The Nights
by rasvu
Summary: A study of a seventeen-year-old student who tries to reason with herself, her galloping imagination and her extortionate expectations in terms of affection. Given a chance, will she act? Or will she fail miserably? Contains a pairing: Severus Snape x original character.
1. The poison

**This story was supposed to be a one-shot with some kind of a clever conclusion, but I enjoyed writing it to the point I will turn it into a longer piece. I'm very glad I'm back to writing chapters instead of two-paragraph roleplay responses. Hopefully you enjoy this story.**

** Canon characters belong to J.K. Rowling, the rest was made up for the needs of the roleplay. The story takes place five or so years before Harry arrives at Hogwarts for the first time.**

The tapping sound echoed for a very brief moment and was lost in the thick mist that hovered over the courtyard of Hogwarts castle. The mist stole the shadow play as well as all the minor noises that were suddenly fading even in the distance. The only determined sound was the one of rough shoe heels tapping against the bricks as a silhouette was rushing down the ambulatory, towards the narrow bridge that led to the plains. It was still before sunrise and the only colours that painted over the sky were the dim ones, mixing with the rolling storm clouds that looked gloomy enough for the landscape opening before one's eyes if following the rushing silhouette.

She turned over her shoulder unexpectedly, causing the hair to messily cover her face and get into her mouth and eyes. She coughed heavily and felt the burning and almost exploding sensation to overwhelm her throat. Her stride was instable and she would stumble over her own feet every few steps. Heart was about to leap out of her chest as the girl pulled at her school sweater, feeling another wave of heat washing over her whole body. She felt she was suffocating. Another rapid look over the shoulder and the girl suddenly fell to the ground, landing brutally on her knees with a crackle and she clutched at her hair violently, the mad cough throwing her body in many directions. She felt she was losing it.

„Prof..." another insanely intense cough caused the lousy body of the seventeen-year-old to arch. „Professor..." the voice was lost in the mist. And she was so close.

Holding her arms out blindly in front of herself, the girl began to move forwards on all fours. The cough ceased for a few blessed moments and in that time the only audible sound around was that of a body being dragged across the cold stone floor. The world seemed to have been rid of all the noises.

„Professor..." she couldn't even call him properly, not to mention calling him loudly enough for him to hear.

She knew he would be there, he always was if he decided to give himself some time alone. His strolling path was always the same and it was perfectly visible from the Ravenclaw tower's dormitories. She herself, suffering from a minor insomnia, sometimes spent her sleepless nights on staring outside the windows if she wasn't reading.

If only she hadn't drunk that blasted potion! What kind of a desperate move was that? Not only a few minutes before midnight, just when she was on her way back to the girls' dormitory the very same group of the three six years stopped her right at the door and yet again tried to pester her. She was tired of the charity work she used to be doing out of good will, tired of checking the others' homework and constantly answering the questions. People did not respect her time. It was the high time it finally changed.

And on that blasted evening she finally reached to her counter side, pulling out the very egoistic self, telling them bravely there would be no more help ever. And it... worked. It worked so perfectly she just couldn't believe. She had never been good with assertiveness in her lifetime and seeing just how one step brought her what she'd been dreaming of for weeks now was so uplifting. And those girls seemed even nice. And then they decided to test her yet again, to her oblivion.

„It's only a potion we brew together. Come on, do you think we would try to harm anyone? Why?" was what they were saying as they pushed through her defense shield more and more, handing out a tiny vial towards her. „We think we owe you one, for the help and all," said a particularly nice one and Emma broke. Even though the tiny container was properly closed with a cork, the smell was coming out anyway, ensnaring her senses. „It's a get-better potion. We added the dark chocolate we bought at Honeydukes the last time we went there," a blonde one said, moving closer to her and smelling the potion along with Emma.

Why didn't she sense something was suspicious back then, at that very moment? Why didn't it click that people do not usually carry self-brewed get-well potions around with them?

It was too late to ask such questions. With every cough the body was experiencing a whole new level of electric-shock-like intense pain. She could barely move anymore. Did the girls want to poison her? Most probably no. She hoped they didn't. It would get them expelled... wouldn't it? With that thought she finally ceased to move at all, stretched over and across the stone floor in an unnatural pose, one hand covering her mouth, the other loosely curled into a fist somewhere by her stomach. The hot tears streamed plentifully down her cheeks and the dark hair randomly circled her face.

„Prof..." only a whisper escaped her throat before she blacked out. The only thing on her mind was that... he never came. Professor Snape never showed up there, in the place he would so often spent his time alone, strolling down the ambulatory and the narrow bridge that was visible from the girls' dormitory. Emma's hope brought her there in vain. He was the only person she would entrust this accident with. Not missus Pomfrey, not professor McGonagall. Not even her family.

Up until the beginning of the seventh year Emma Hawthorne never paid much attention to any of the teacher in terms other than what level of authority they seemed to have for her. Professor Snape was quite high on that list and he held impressive knowledge of the subject he led. Other than that, she would never dare to think of anyone, not to say _him,_ in categories different that authority. She was too study-oriented that human relationship became somewhat a hardship and an unpleasant obligation to fulfill for her. But... something changed when she began to suffer from that minor case of insomnia.

She would stay up all night not more than five or six times per month and it would be purely caused by pressure. She would cope with that rather well, but only up until the seventh year. The closing of such an important chapter of her life and exams on her horizon brought her to a whole new level of stress.

The only relieving thought was that there must have been someone who shared her insomnia, whether on purpose or just out of pure coincidence. Someone who, just like her, kept their mind sharp in the middle of the night, finding it hard to just go to bed with the avalanche of thoughts going rapidly down their minds.

And that was when she noticed _him_. A black-clad silhouette strolling one night across the courtyard and entering the narrow wooden bridge, sometimes just stopping there to look towards the horizon. She would never see his expression and honestly she did not have to. There was something troubling that man and she could sense it from afar. It was not about his unpleasant personality, it was not about issues with students who disliked him and made fun of him; no. It was something deep. Emma felt sudden sympathy for the man, it struck her so suddenly she just laughed out loud one particular night and simply tried to push the thought to the back of her mind, but it just was there and did not want to leave. Such an absurd thought, to be fascinated and attracted to a teacher. But even since that night of realisation, the feeling had developed to the point Emma couldn't get him off her mind. She would think what was he doing at the least expected moments, she would imagine the ways of them meeting and having a down-to-earth conversation about... well, something. And, paradoxically, her grades went up even more. She tried to impress him with her knowledge. He never noticed. She would walk the same corridors he did. He never noticed. Emma tried to reason with herself – she was only another student, one of the thousands or hundreds of thousands who had been going through the school, literally. She might have been clever beyond expectations, but there had been many such students throughout the years in which Hogwarts existed.

They shared nothing in common, not yet. Nothing except that place, except the nights they would both stay up, one far from the other. Inside Emma's head it felt as if she was living out poetry or a very dramatic romantic novel. But that was the point, _it was only inside of her head_.

And in that moment, when she was laying in her bed and the _get-well_ effect wore off, when she started to feel something was wrong, she – in a blink of an eye – jumped from under the covers, dressed and rushed to the courtyard, hopeful of finding _him_ there to help. It was as if foreseeing. She knew that if he didn't help, no one would ever. And he wasn't there.

But there was a sudden sensation she felt inside herself. As if someone was rewinding her like a tape, as if her insides curled continuously. Was she... alive? Dead? _Still fighting...?_

**I thoroughly hope you enjoyed the first chapter. Please leave a review and let me know what I could improve or what you liked/disliked the most. Thank you for reading!**


	2. Confusion

**Hello everyone. At first I thank you for visiting here and following the story. I truly hope the next chapter is as enjoyable – or more. **

**I officially decided the action takes place six years before Harry arrives at Hogwarts. **

**As always, the canon characters belong to J.K. Rowling.**

It felt like being sucked through a really narrow tube and then released at the end of it, the feeling of all the muscles relaxing and the ability of taking a deep breath divine. She gasped suddenly, her breath speeding up and slowing down in a very unstable motion. The eyes opened somewhat slowly, or at least such was the feeling of them opening, such was the feeling of all that occurred, as if the time slowed down a couple of times. The images gradually became sharper and brighter and her gestures more determined as Emma reached out in front of herself, unsure, with one hand but soon it dropped back down to where it previously laid. She only managed to open her mouth but felt too worn out to speak and she was scared to death with what had occurred before she blacked out.

Blacked out? Or maybe it was already death?

"But Albus," a very stern female voice echoed for what seemed eternity inside Emma's head and she could feel her eyebrows twitch from the sudden noise. Every little sound was painful. "This! I cannot imagine something as much life-threatening as this happening again within the walls of this castle. A student spread across the ambulatory path as though dead at the wake of the day? Poppy's student! We cannot..." The high-pitched voice vibrated within Emma's ears. After a few very long minutes the girl felt her limbs itch and a sudden wave of heat washed over her whole body. She experienced the familiar feeling of falling down an infinite hole, head down, hands floating indifferently at the sides of the body as the imaginary tube sucked her in yet again and all the sounds ceased to exist, there was only her, the silence and the darkness around her.

Had he only been there to pick her up when she fell. Emma knew – or believed it very strongly - that he would miraculously stop the pain, serve her the antidote and bring her back to life within a blink of an eye. She knew he would recognize the poison inside the vial and would not give up until he would find the very source of it, inside the castle or not. Such was her image of Severus Snape. Without hesitation she deemed it and badly wanted to believe it was the right, objective picture. She would occasionally scold herself for thinking nonsense but it was what kept her going in terms of the affection. Probably never was Emma brave enough to look more deeply into the man. She also knew too little of him, so instead of trying to reach him, the girl idealized him from afar, preferring to stick to her made-up image instead of the truth. It felt bittersweet.

It didn't matter anymore anyway. She felt she was dying and there was no one around to help. There were only the panicked voices, the worried voices and the upset voices that sounded through the mist of reality around her.

"Miss Hawthorne," a gentle shake and a lump moving lazily down her throat caused Emma to rapidly sit up straight and for the first time in what seemed days her eyes finally shot open and she looked around, the view still blurry. It all felt, smelled and looked differently; there was no more mist, no more grayish flagstones on the floor, no more mist hovering over the courtyard. After a few moments Emma realized she was at the hospital wing. By her bed stood three figures, one significantly taller than the remaining two. "Are you awake?"

Emma felt her own head nod without her consent.

"It has been a really long night, child," a very familiar voice, slightly gentler than the previous stern one reached her ears and she furrowed her eyebrows, trying to comprehend the situation. It struck her hard within seconds; she was alive! But who saved her? Who watched over her? Who carried her to the hospital wing?

The sudden burst of life must have shown in her pale green eyes for the same voice reached her ears again, this time just as stern.

"We can't wait this long, miss Hawthorne. It took you over twenty-four hours to get back to consciousness. You have just experienced quite an unpleasant feeling of a lump going down your throat. It was another, smaller dose of bezoar. I gave you the first one just when professor McGonagall and professor Flitwick brought you here at dawn. You're ought to be very grateful and happy that it was the day of patrolling the courtyard. The staff does that only once a week..."

"Poppy, please. I must ask miss Hawthorne a question immediately, before she is influenced with any further thoughts," McGonagall cut in impatiently yet with dignity. Emma turned her head towards the elderly witch with a bit of an effort and opened her mouth to speak, but no one gave her the right and opportunity to. Instead, the serious voice sounded again when professor McGonagall rushed over to her bed and hovered over her, leaning in a bit. Emma shivered slightly under the crisp bed sheets. "Child, why would you drink poison? Tell me as much as you can possibly remember from the time before you even left the castle walls."

"Minerva, I think it would be better if she was allowed some more rest..."

"I'm of the same opinion," another – third – voice reached Emma's ears and she instantly recognised professor Dumbledore. It was that significantly taller figure and his voice was very concerned, yet gentle, and the girl sighed softly knowing that with the Headmaster around somewhere the situation was under control. He would never allow any harm to his students and he was the thoughtfulness itself. Emma had never seen his senile face this clouded, though, in her earlier years at Hogwarts. Even when the rumours of the Deatheaters about to find and bring their master, Lord Voldemort, back to life had spread like plague through the whole wizardry world, including Hogwarts, the man denied the false information with peace.

Emma had then also learnt that Severus Snape, her idealised figure and the person worth – in her further opinion – all the trust of the world, used to be a Deatheater himself. But the girl belonged to the group of wizards and witches who stood firmly by Dumbledore and his idea of the world, and so it wasn't too hard for her to give Snape her trust back after the Headmaster had announced that the potions professor was back to the good side for good, and under his very protection and observation.

"Albus, you do know I dislike to go against you or your opinion, but in this serious case I think we should act extremely quickly," McGonagall quickly looked over her shoulder as if wanting to scold the man for stopping her from acting. "The poison was strong enough to kill the girl and it was created here, in the castle for all we know. Why? Would anyone, especially a student, unconsciously, just by mere accident experimentally brew something so sophisticated? Along with Filius we took into account a possibility of the potion coming from outside Hogwarts, but that would only result in a dozen of further questions. Oh, Albus," the witch shook her head and directed it towards Emma again.

Upon the word **experimentally **the girl began to comprehend. She slowly started to gather all the scraps of images and conversation from the day it all began. She remembered how bravely she ended the charity work that she had been formerly doing for her fellow Ravenclaws. She also remembered the three girls who presented her with the tiny vial of a dark chocolate-scented **get-well potion**. Everything started to settle inside her brain like puzzle, but when Emma finally added the last painful piece – which was the thought of Snape before blacking out – her brain started a completely different process. The puzzle shattered again. The only way to solve them was to answer one question: why?

Emma's expression must have gained everyone's attention yet again. "Child, who gave that potion to you? Or have you brewed it yourself?" McGonagall's slightly gentler voice pulled her out of her confusing thoughts and the girl looked at the witch. It suddenly struck her that she had two ways, two choices. If she spoke against the girls, she would most probably be done for. Not only would it bring a massive investigation to life but also would forever give her a badge of a accuser. The very thought hit her so hard with fear that Emma narrowed her eyes and hissed. She feared being neglected more than she felt obliged to do what was just and reasonable.

However, what if she falsely admitted having brewed the potion herself? Would it spare her the pitiful reputation? Emma's brain twitched at how happy the thought presented itself to her, but soon the joy ceased. She would be most probably expelled. And expelled meant... She would never see him again. But what if... what if it impresses him? No, she could no possibly build anything on a lie.

Before Emma decided which answer to choose, which way of fate to go, she heard a sound of footsteps coming from the corridor, echoing in the whole chamber. The girl couldn't see precisely who approached, but soon enough the realisation came to her. "Professor Dumbledore, may I have a word with you," a rather deep, harsh male voice reached her ears and Emma's heart skipped a beat, jumping right up to her throat. "It is important," another sentence and Emma realised professor Snape stood right there, in the doorway. She also saw Dumbledore raise a wrinkled hand in a welcoming gesture and he nodded to McGonagall meaningfully. The witch pursed her lips and nodded back at him, but she seemed slightly irritated. Emma could understand her upset.

When Dumbledore walked away from her bed, Emma gained a perfect view of the other. He was focused on the elder man only and did not give her a spare look. He also seemed a lot more tired than usually and the girl wondered what happened to him. Could he not sleep again the previous night?

The sudden rush of adrenaline that washed over her. Because of seeing Snape so soon Emma's thoughts stirred and she couldn't catch the moment her mouth opened to speak without her consent.

"I did this. It's all my doing, professor. I... I'm sorry."

She only saw all the heads turning towards her. If that was the fate, let it be so.

**Thank you for reading. If you enjoyed this chapter, please leave a review!**


	3. Doubtful truth

**It's been a tiny while since I updated this story. I've had a busy time recently but sat down with determination and wrote two chapters instead of just one. I hope you enjoy them both.**

**The usual disclaimers apply :)**

She could see the disbelief in all the professors' eyes as they turned their faces towards her upon hearing her admit she was the one to have prepared the potion. Even for Emma her confession sounded rather incredible and most probably no one considered taking it into account. How wrong she was thinking!

McGonagall immediately sat at the edge of the hospital bed and looked into the girl's eyes with a mix of concern and anger, trying to read her face as though she was a convict not a schoolgirl. Dumbledore and Snape, too, narrowed their eyes and both men slowly approached the small metal bed while Emma sat up carefully, feeling her cheeks burning. She felt guilty – guilty for having acted stupidly enough to drink the potion and then put the whole blame on herself. Certainly the need to be noted by the one close to her heart surfaced and took control of all she was uttering. The girl dropped her eyes.

"Miss Hawthorne," the girl heard professor McGonagall's voice and it was obvious it was no joke that time. "If this is the truth, you should be able to... meet the certain level of knowledge to be able to brew such a strong poison." Emma nodded sheepishly and only dared to raise her sight as high as to meet McGonagall's. Her heart still couldn't find the right rhythm and it was drumming inside her chest like crazy, the odd feeling of limb weakness still bothering her body. He was so close to her, he was paying attention to her, her words and her general demeanor and the very thought of that made Emma shiver. "Which I am more that positive you are incapable of. We still need to have the samples taken from you examined by professor Snape, which might take a longer while, since-"

"Since the samples have been partially digested," it was the second time Snape spoke, rudely interrupting the elderly witch's sentence. Even then Emma couldn't get enough grip on herself to look at him.

McGonagall only briefly looked at Snape with a slight irritation and then to Dumbledore, whose face gave away deep concern and yet it was more pleasant than the other man's. Snape rarely interrupted anyone, unless it was a matter which he found to be his strength, potions in that case. She could not argue nor scold the man, for he was right. And she must have felt sorry for Emma from what the girl saw when looking up at her again. But there was something more to the look and Emma was soon to know what.

"It will take up to a week to complete the task," Snape's bitter voice reached Emma's ears again and she dared to look more up for the first time. She saw the man's eyes focused on the old woman, his expression somewhat sour as if dealing with that matter was the last thing he wanted to do on that day, or week. Emma immediately felt another wave of guilt wash over her and she looked opposite direction. "Until then I suggest miss Hawthorne stays under Poppy's care. I also suggest she is suspended until the matter is clear."

Upon those words even Dumbledore turned his head towards Snape, in quite a negative surprise.

"Severus, I believe we do not have to go as far as to straight ahead blame this poor girl for the accident. I don't think she even knew what was inside the potion. I will take your opinion into account, but for now I suggest to let miss Hawthorne rest. I have a feeling we are still only digging up what's on the surface of the iceberg of this incident."

"Headmaster, Minerva," Snape's face presented disappointment as he gave the rest of professors a short, sloppy bow of his head after a short while of silence and, looking briefly at the girl, left the hospital wing, his black robes blown in the air in the familiar dramatic manner. When the door closed with a thud, Dumbledore finally turned his full attention to Emma.

"My dear," his tone changed to a more considerate one and Emma nodded, focusing on the Headmaster. She was getting tired of only listening to the conversation, especially now that the only one whom she has been awaiting so strongly left the room and the girl was left to questions. "I do agree with professor McGonagall about one thing, which might be the key to our further investigation. You don't need to explain us why you chose to say otherwise," Dumbledore leaned in a bit, slightly closing the distance which made Emma feel slightly overwhelmed. "But be honest, miss Hawthorne. It was not you responsible for brewing the potion, was it?"

Emma took a moment to answer the question. Now that Snape was gone she gained the full and conscious control of her mind and words and felt even more stupid to have said what she had. An emotionally weak person seeks to impress people by adjusting to their own image of those people's expectations. That hope that drove her to impress Snape in such a wrong way was... pathetic.

"You're right, Headmaster. I didn't brew the potion. I...," she trailed off for a few moments before picking up. She should have spoken the truth at the very beginning instead of putting those people into unnecessary confusion and complicating matters. "I can finally remember the whole situation."

"Share it with us, if you will," was Dumbledore's response.

It didn't take Emma long to tell the professors what happened ever since she had entered the common room of Ravenclaw up until she woke up in the middle of the night. She was trying her best not to put any emotional content into her story and she very strongly hoped none of the two would ask why exactly was she found in the courtyard while the way to the hospital wing was in an opposite direction.

"I have to ask you one thing, though, miss Hawthorne," Dumbledore said after a brief moment and Emma paled, foreseeing the coming question.

"Yes, Headmaster."

"What made you leave the castle? I do believe you knew the way to the hospital wing, I bet you must have at least visited a friend here if not being cured here yourself. So?"

Emma looked quite desperate to not mention anything concerning Snape and whatever feelings she had for him and her pale face must have perfectly given away that it was not by pure accident that she was found unconscious right there. She had to come up with a lie within a split of a second which she most definitely wasn't good at.

"I must let you know you broke one of the school rules by doing that, too, miss Hawthorne," McGonagall spoke as if wanting to urge the girl to answer and Emma felt her cheeks burning with awkward. She decided to give the most neutral of all answers.

"I cannot quite remember, professor," she made the biggest effort not to escape the piercing look of the witch's eyes and she persevered it, not blinking even once. "That's probably the only thing I can't understand in that situation,of course except for the reason why potion made its way to me," Emma cursed everything about her personality and slid down to a resting position, feeling her back getting very slightly numb from sitting tensely and motionless for quite a while.

"You have made a very important point, miss Hawthorne," this time Dumbledore spoke with a soft voice. "It seems that indeed, the potion _made its way_ to you." McGonagall gave the man a questioning look that Emma noticed but the headmaster only straightened his back and smiled warmly at the girl. "Let's give the poor girl her rest, Minerva."

Emma could see the confusion in McGonagall's eyes; it seemed as thought Dumbledore already found a theory for the accident, but obviously he was not to share it with his friend in her presence. McGonagall stood up, a little irritated and with her curiosity unquenchable.

"Rest well, miss Hawthorne," Dumbledore bid Emma farewell and the witch followed him with a slightly stern _goodbye _and soon there was no one besides her in the hospital wing; Mrs Pomfrey must have been already preparing to go to bed in her chambers in a small tower with the entrance from the hospital chamber side. Emma rolled to the side and clenched her teeth, recalling the face Severus Snape made when he spoke of suspending her. Why would such an idea even see the daylight? It seemed as though the man was the only person who felt suspicious towards her; and for that Emma couldn't blame him, since a bit of caution was always necessary. But that bitter voice...

**Thanks for reading! Please leave a review and tell me whether you like it so far or not, or maybe leave some words of wisdom? I'd love to know what you think.**


	4. Friends

**And here comes the next chapter that I wrote today. I hope it makes up for the big break – the original plan was to update every weekend. Thank you all who are interested in this story.**

**Hopefully you enjoy the next part!**

What she woke up to a few hours later brought more of joy than Emma suspected it to. It seemed that the professors' visit had happened very early in the morning, probably about five o'clock. No wonder they put the girl back to sleep.

Just as the sun rays – first in a week - tickled her face and made her open her eyes slowly, she spotted something colourful standing by the bedside on the night table. After giving the object a more conscious and thorough look, Emma saw a medium-sized paper box of – seemingly – various sweets from the Honeydukes. There also stood a couple of folded notes next to that and a small yellow tulip in a transparent glass, probably a charmed one.

It was no wonder the whole school was already familiar with at least rumours about the accident that happened in the night to a certain Ravenclaw girl, seventh or sixth year, or so they said. They also said it was a prank arranged by Slytherins to get their revenge for something unclear that happened in the past. And they also said it was another Ravenclaw girl, jealous about the victim who had been often talking to her boyfriend. Some were even brave anough to claim there was a secret society of evil students forming within Hogwarts. But those who knew Emma – and there were, sadly, not very many of them – would rather learn it themselves.

And it seemed they had come to visit her before class and she was asleep at that time, so they only left the notes. Emma couldn't help but smile, though her eyes felt puffy and there was a tension to her body still, especially to her throat and lungs from the constant coughing the previous night. Before taking the note closest to her hand, the girl grabbed a glass of water and soaked a small towel in the cool liquid to refresh her face. Setting those aside, she could finally properly read the note.

_Dear Emma! _

_I really do hope you are better now. You would never guess but yesterday we were not allowed any information about you! You did not come to class, which, well, is not like you at all. You did not come to neither breakfast nor dinner and you were not in the library either. I could not search for you in the girls' dormitory and no one knew what was with you. And only today during breakfast I heard Mrs Pomfrey talk to the headmaster about an accident that got you injured! I ran to Greta in an instant and we found May together and came here. I feel obliged to tell you this, but Greta and May only left you get-well wishes. I asked Mrs Pomfrey to let us visit you again this evening after dinner and she agreed. I hope you are awake by then and that they treat you right._

_All the best, _

_Owen_

With a smile Emma set the neatly written note in her lap and reached for the remaining two, grabbing them both at once and randomly picking the first one to read.

_Emma!_

_Owen will be Owen, he wrote you in detail all that we had going on ever since you disappeared! I hope you are alright by the time you read my note. Please, tell Pomfrey to take extra care of you or else we storm in to nurse you ourselves. Get well soon!_

_Lots of love,_

_Greta_

All that she expected to get from Greta was right there on a little blue card, written in a messy and almost a shaggy handwriting. Greta was a complete opposite of Emma in terms of social skills and the flexibility. Her very first friend, a person who had approached her in their first year in Hogwarts after one of the classes just to let her know she found Emma's bag "rather cool", which made Emma stand there silent and unable to take a compliment. Greta would be her shield throughout the following four years until she was introduced to Owen Gillard with whom she immediately fell in love.

Owen Gillard was also Emma's very first love as well. The well-behaved boy who had a habbit of feeling superior towards others in terms of his knowledge and general life wisdom, the boy who had a very strong sense of dignity but also cared for those around him even though he sometimes retreated into his private space to take a deep breath; the boy who found Emma not as plain as everyone else around did. She became his friend in their fourth year. That's when she began to blossom. Wishing to match his wisdom Emma found the passion of studying and reading and would spend nights talking to Owen about what he liked and she found equally interesting. It seemed they fitted together perfectly. But that was only Emma's assumption and when she finally introduced Greta to her beloved, everything changed.

She had seen them talk more than the girl reckoned acquaintances would. She had started to realise – usually being rather uneducated in relationship matters – that there was something serious forming between the two. And it reached the culmination in May of their fourth year at Hogwarts. Ever since the day Owen and Greta got together, Emma swore she would never fall in love again.

Reaching for the last note Emma didn't have to guess who was it from. The handwriting was petite.

_Emmie,_

_I wish I could be there to help you. I hope you can get well soon. When Owen and Greta found me after breakfast I have already had a gut feeling there was something wrong. And they confirmed it. I will come with them after dinner. I'm looking forward to seeing you a lot. We're not allowed to bring you any food, but I managed to sneak in a few candies. Hopefully Pomfrey doesn't take them away._

_Yours,_

_May_

And there was May. May whom she had met once in the spells club the year before. May was quite unobtrusive even for a Hufflepuff, but she turned out to be one of the most complex people Emma has ever met in her life. They shared a similar point of view in most of the matters. It was Emma, though, who had the gift of wisdom; May, however hard she wouldn't try, she would fail very often. Emma sometimes thought that May looked up to her as if she was her mentor, but that role did not fit her or make her comfortable. May must have realised that for she loosened up a bit ever since and grew to be Emma's closest friend – however close Emma would allow people to get to her.

A loud thud of the entrance door pulled her out of her thoughts and a smile faded from the girl's face. When she raised her green eyes to see what caused the noise, Emma noticed something black disappearing in Mrs Pomfrey's office and immediately realised what, or rather_ who_ it was. She quickly slid down the pillow as if wanting to hide herself and watched inconspicuously for the moment he would leave, just to catch a glimpse of him.

After a while the two voices became clearer and louder, and finally both people left the office, stopping just outside the door.

"Severus, I can't allow you to do that," the female voice was unnaturally high and the witch sounded offended, as if Snape was questioning her abilities and methods. "The girl is under my care now, as the head nurse in this castle."

"I think that the headmaster made himself clear that we indeed need to proceed with investigation, Poppy," Severus' voice was different now, but certainly not as bitter and tormented as it was at the wake of the day. "I don't need her to even leave the hospital wing. I will bring it all here and it will take less than five minutes. I don't think I have to remind you that the headmaster's word is crucial."

Emma held her breath at the silence that fell upon the two.

"Fine."

Without further ado Severus Snape left the chamber and Emma saw Mrs Pomfrey heading towards her bed, a worried expression painting over her face.

"Miss Hawthorne," she said and the girl sat back up. "Professor Snape," she spoke his name with almost an anger, "will come back within ten minutes and he would like you to cooperate. I think he will ask you about the ingredients or whatever he will... I can't be sure for, obviously, he wasn't too profuse with his explanation. Anyway, please make sure to call me if you feel it's too much," the woman waited for Emma's confirmation and the girl only nodded.

And it finally got to her. Five minutes with Severus Snape's whole attention focused just on her.

**As usually, thank you for reading and I do hope you leave a review!**


	5. More than one surprise

It must have been more than a few minutes for certain, or at least Emma felt like it. Having nothing better to do – and being unable to anyway – she set to count the passing seconds, each causing her to feel slightly more and more stressed. The good weather was still untouched and it felt quite depressing to be stuck in one place, especially in such circumstances; she could picture Greta and Owen taking a stroll in the full sun before classes start, taking in whatever sun rays they can before the winter kicks in. Emma was not the type to spend that much of her time outdoors, but she would give a lot to be able to join her friends right then; to think there were eight hours left before they could come to visit her...

After what seemed an eternity, the entrance door opened in rather a dramatic manner, indicating the impatience or anger of the person coming in. Inside stepped Severus Snape with his arms loaded with a few wooden containers which Emma reckoned to be vial holders, and a few other miscellaneous objects which she couldn't see from afar. What she saw, though, was the man's quick scan of the infirmary interior just to set his dark eyes upon her bed, which direction he headed. The man looked just the same as every day: a bit sour, stern, slightly disturbed and tired of people's stupidity. Emma knew it would not be a friendly conversation and the man wouldn't even try to show her some sympathy, like McGonagall or Dumbledore would back then. He would do his job and leave, without giving her – as an individual – the slightest thought. He was only task-focused. The girl wondered if that was only his Deatheater past that made him the way he was; or maybe something far worse hung over him like a stormy cloud, waiting to pour the painful memories over his head like rain.

"Good morning, professor," Emma sat up straight and quickly looked around herself, checking if the surrounding was neat enough to not gain a scolding look from Snape. Her heart felt both heavy and feather-light at the same time; the man nodded, mouthing a barely audible"good morning", and grabbed a metal stool, pulling it close to Emma's bedside. He cleared the end table with a flick of his wand and set the boxes on top of it, opening them one by one. The girl couldn't help but turned her head their direction and leaned in out of curiosity, trying to guess what they held before Snape would inform her. He must have spotted that slight movement for he sent Emma a short glance, as if ordering her to patiently wait and not meddle into the business too much. She immediately did and remained quiet.

"I need you to smell the vials one by one carefully," the man grabbed the first vial in a row, containing a rich, chestnut coloured liquid in it and uncorked it slowly. Emma held out a hand to grab it (her heart fluttered at the thought of the possibility of their fingers touching) but Snape shook his head. "Do not touch it," he articulated every word firmly and she nodded, withdrawing the arm, hiding it under the blanket. The situation felt very unnatural and it most certainly didn't live up to Emma's expectations.

"Make effort and tell me which smell is the most similar to the one of the poison you drank," the man spoke and stopped the vial somewhat away from Emma's face and began waving his hand towards her energetically, causing the vapors to hit her nostrils. She felt the instant urge to drink the liquid; without her consent Emma's head began to lean in towards the little bottle but she was stopped by Snape's hand within seconds. He pushed her shoulder causing her to fall back against the pillow.

Emma clenched her teeth and refused to look towards the man; she could still feel his rather cool hand on her skin, even though she wore a jumper. She knew she had to get a grip on herself, otherwise...

"I assume it wasn't that strong, then," still refusing to look at Snape, Emma could hear his voice and another sound of glass clanking against glass as he exchanged the vials. "What did you smell?"

Emma mentally sighed and prepared herself to look at the man again. Surprisingly, he was still busy uncorking and did not give her a single thought. The girl sighed again, this time audibly.

"It was foul, something like burnt caramel, very sweet and disgusting," she answered. "But... at the same time it drew me close. I don't know what else can I say about-"

"Now let's proceed to the second one," interrupting her sentence, Snape repeated the action.

This time, though, the liquid was of an amber colour, very vibrant, almost like running gold and it smelled mildly, without anything special to it, maybe a bit sugary, too, but definitely not what she remembered. She didn't lean in this time, though.

The familiarity in smell shown at the fourth try, although the colour was completely different than the previous poison; Emma almost gasped when the vapors hit her again and she looked to Snape, slightly concerned. Apparently he made a rather successful attempt at re-creating the poison within a day. Or at least that was what Emma suspected, because brewing a complete poison most definitely took longer than that. Maybe he has just started to work his way to re-creating it?

When she wasn't looking, Snape observed her reaction very carefully and he immediately recognised the difference, before Emma even reacted.

"So this is it," he said in a low voice and quickly corked the vial, putting it back to where it belonged. Emma knew he was prepared for a more in-depth or longer testing – having brought all the devices with him – but it seemed her reaction gave him the answer he needed at that moment.

"Professor," Emma said, watching the man gathering all that he had brought with him in his arms. Snape paused for a brief moment and looked at the girl with a slight reproach, as if she was the only one responsible for all the bad of the world; he would, in fact, give everyone that look. At least she was not dumb and her grades acknowledged that, so he couldn't really keep the mean attitude towards her all the time.

"Yes, miss Hawthorne?"

"May I ask... how many ingredients of the potion have you already found? I'd really like to be informed about the process," she added quickly, trying to maintain the eye contact with the man as he stood up.

"Would you now," Snape mocked mildly, but she still felt the pinch. "Yes, miss Hawthorne, you may. I am on the way of finding the fifth one. I'll speak to professor Flitwick after dinner and most probably we will need to get more of such tests done. Now, if you excuse me," his voice showed a slight impatience as he was moving away from Emma's bed.

The girl nodded, but there was this almost gut urge to speak with him, since she had a chance; to ask whatever question to gain more of his attention.

"Professor," Emma called out to the man as he almost reached the door and was about to leave the hospital wing. She saw Snape turning around very slowly and expected to see irritation painting over his face. She was not entirely wrong, but more that irritation, Snape had a tired expression, a plain one.

"Yes?"

"When I'm out of the hospital wing, I want to assist," Emma wanted to add _you_ to _assist_ but cut off the sentence in time, biting her tongue.

"When you're out of the hospital wing, miss Hawthorne, we are primarily going to speed up the investigation. Headmaster has clearly instructed staff to treat you easily, but my opinion is different. It's not always black or white," with that Snape just left, having Emma – yet again without her own consent – jump out of her bed and run to the door, wanting to catch the man and say it a hundred times: she was _innocent_. As innocent as one could be. Her only fault was that of trying to, what, protect the bullies? It hurt her to realise what opinion Snape had of her.

"Dear child, come back to bed!"

A hand quickly and tightly clutched at her forearm. She swore she saw Snape turn to look over his dark-clad shoulder but he was gone within a second. Emma stopped in place and saw Pomfrey's frowning face right at her side; she was slightly taller than the dainty woman.

"Yes, sorry," Emma dropped her shoulders and allowed the nurse to lead her back to bed. She felt unsatisfied.

A noise pulled the girl out of a small nap she had taken after reading the Daily Prophet issue that madam Pomfrey let her borrow. Not many interesting incidents of the week, it seemed as though the world settled comfortably on the idea of Lord Voldemort being gone for good. Some reasonable speakers urged people to always stay at least a bit alert for if not the dark wizard, someone else might take his place and start another rebellion. Emma shared that reasonable attitude; even though her interests floated around topics much different, much more abstract, she preferred to stay informed and opinionated, even though sometimes she wouldn't contribute to the general discussion.

The said noise was caused by a pair of feet. Steady sound of footsteps on the flagstone made Emma smile slightly and pull herself up. It was the person she suspected: May. Her pale brownish locks looked even more chaotic than usual, but those huge gray eyes glowed more than usually. In fact, Emma had never really seen her friend that overwhelmed, whether with anger or happiness, but such emotion gave her rather plain face more of an impression, which the girl found flattered May.

"Emmie!" finally the girl approached the bed and quickly embraced Emma with all her might which was quite a force. Emma threw her arms around her friend, too, and they cuddled for a few long moments before the other took a hold of her shoulders and faced her, a very genuine smile playing on her small, plump lips. "You don't look half as bad as I thought you would! I thought you would be literally dying here. Oh, also Greta and Owen told me to really apologise to you. Said they had a bit of a charms chaos and their homework amount killed them so they most probably won't be coming today. Owen wrote a note, of course," May pulled out and set the parchment on the end table and continued to smile but within a few moments the nice expression faded a bit. "Emmie?"

Emma, too, had a smile on her face, but she was still confused after what happened with Snape, or rather his attitude. May saw through her right away; that was why Emma had an honor to call the other her best friend. She could be her eyes and mouth and they understood each other's thoughts perfectly most of the time. But... neither May nor anyone else knew about her feelings for the potions professor.

"It's nothing, I just took a nap, still a little sleepy I think," Emma returned the thoughtful look to May. "I've never been overly enthusiastic, May," she reminded with a soft chuckle.

"Oh, alright," May said briefly, but Emma was sure the girl would soon be back to the subject and sooner or later she would have to share the well-hidden secret. "But now tell me all! Have they treated you well? Who visited you so far?"

"Yes, they've treated me really well, too well for my liking," Emma relaxed against the pillow as May finally took a seat at her bedside and reached out to brush the girl's dark bangs from her forehead. "I was intimidated as ever. There was McGonagall who brought me here with Flitwick – he probably left before I woke up - and Dumbledore, and Snape for a moment," she lowered her voice insignificantly at the mention but went back to speaking normally soon. "So far they haven't progressed much from what I know..."

"The whole school is speaking about it now. I wouldn't be surprised if the Prophet mentioned that, too," May looked around the place quickly and noticed the issue of the said newspaper, but before she reached to grab it, Emma shook her head, sighing. "No mention yet. I wish it stayed that way, May..."

It was pitch black outside – maybe about half past nine – when May left and madam Pomfrey decided to turn off the lights; the only inhabitants of the great infirmary were now Emma and a Gryffindor first year boy who broke his forearm during one of the flying lessons. He was to stay overnight and get back to his regular class in the morning; at that point Emma deeply wished she could leave the place just the same.

"Sleep well," were the nurse's last words before the elderly witch disappeared inside her chambers and suddenly the whole room became quiet. The Gryffindor boy was breathing peacefully but Emma couldn't bring herself to fall asleep as well. The look of Snape's eyes was still vivid before the eyes of her mind and she couldn't stop the rapid thoughts running through her brain. Why did he turn to look over his shoulder? If he cared even slightly, why did he act otherwise? And why did she even analyze the situation in the first place? He was doing his job and she was to obey. There was no connection between them whatsoever.

But before Emma lost herself in her thoughts completely, the door yet again opened in that dramatic manner. This time, though, the girl cried out in a surprise and searched for her wand out of habit, but she didn't find it anywhere near. She shot up and grabbed an empty mug, just in case to crack it over the intruder's head. Within moments Severus Snape's silhouette emerged into the light cast by the crescent moon and his own wand. He looked to her shortly before turning left.

"Poppy, I need Hawthorne in my office right now," Emma heard the man knock on and open madam Pomfrey's door and she set the mug back to where it had stood. Her heart – pounding – began to calm and she tried to eavesdrop the conversation. He _needed_ her in the office. An avalanche of possible meanings to the phrase – not excluding the inappropriate ones – run through her. He must have discovered another ingredient.

"You are insane, Severus! She will not step out of here until she is cured or until the Headmaster says so!"

Emma understood the witch's reaction perfectly, but... she was internally flushing and grinning at what that situation may bring her. Her outside, though, was pale and statue-like, as the girl tied the terry night robe, ready to get out of the bed.

"This can't wait, so if you're so concerned about your ethics, go and inform the Headmaster," Snape sounded as impatient as ever and even madam Pomfrey couldn't overlook that. "And she has to come with me."

The elderly witch looked helpless, but only for a slight moment before following Snape to Emma's bed.

"Dear, I'm sure you aren't deaf... Please put on warm socks and shoes and follow professor Snape while I... while I go and inform the Headmaster about this chaos," Pomfrey patted the girl lightly on her shoulder and walked away energetically, casting a bubble-head charm on the Gryffindor patient to allow him to sleep without being disturbed.

Emma discarded the blanket and quickly did what the witch asked her to; within moments she was ready – and she yet again saw that look on her. Snape only turned and gestured her to follow. Emma, wrapped with a thick terry night robe, her dark hair a damp mess, wearing awkward baby blue pajamas followed the black-clad man out of the hospital wing and down the gloomy corridors, lit only by the _lumos_ light coming out of his wand.


	6. Another trial

The corridors felt chilly enough to send shivers down Emma's spine, even though her steps were fast and vivid. The sound of her footsteps disappeared, muffled by the many worn out and long carpets spread across the flagstones. It truly felt awkward knowing she would soon descend underground to find herself inside the office of that one person she adored, or, well, deeply cared for. Before her walked Severus Snape, clad – as usually – in black robes, holding his wand at the forearm height, casting the _lumos _spell to enlighten the way before the two of them. He was silent and so were his footsteps, and he wouldn't even try to explain the sudden occurrence to the girl. He wouldn't even check if she was still keeping up with him. Emma could quite justify that, but honestly needed at least a bit of understanding of the matter.

After about two minutes, Severus abruptly stopped at the top of the staircase leading to the dungeons and turned to face Emma, his face not showing anything she should watch out for. Nothing, except of maybe some weariness, though it was not the weariness she recognised.

"Professor?" she asked quietly so as not to cause him any anger.

"Listen," he responded after a short silence that fell upon them. His voice was a bit calmer but still had a rough undertone to it and sounded as though he was made to participate in the whole situation. Emma paid close attention. "We are going to enter my private space. I demand you keep your hands off of anything. Do not touch or smell anything, do not interest yourself with my personal items. I wouldn't have ever invited a person to my private office if it wasn't for this particular occurrence and I'm not enjoying one second of this, miss Hawthorne. Be so kind as to keep straight to the point when we get there," Snape carried on, his voice changing to a more threatening one, although not so visibly. "I take you for a reasonable student. Act up to this opinion," he finished and Emma swallowed, not being able to move her eyes away from the man's face. He was standing so close. He told her she was smart... at least her brain converted the information that way, which she didn't mind at all... And then Emma realised how ridiculously she looked in her third- or fourth-grade baby blue pajamas and with her damp hair sticking to a pale face. Her eyes dropped to the floor immediately.

"Yes, sir," she answered shortly – and to the point – and almost urged him to move on, for she couldn't bear the distance closing between them as they stood there, it was something incredible and impossible, and Emma thought that if it continued, she would lose her self-control. And there would be – most certainly – no afterglow.

Snape merely spun in place and rushed down the stone stairs, apparently not feeling the slightest unease after the small talk with Emma. She was imagining just too much. Ravenclaw people always did. They would always get to matters from many different point views, sometimes considered quite odd among hot-tempered Gryffindors or happy-go-lucky Hufflepuffs. Slytherins shared that trait to some point, but it would always be Ravenclaws who suggested most unusual ideas or solutions to various issues. Ravenclaw people usually stuck to themselves unless it was necessary to work in a group; they tended to work only for their own account, not out of selfishness, but of the urge to challenge themselves in many ways. And so was Emma – she only got into too much charity work. But she, indeed, liked to make effort on her own account. And walking down that staircase behind Severus, the girl hoped she would figure out a lot more than usually about the man; she hoped to be allowed to make effort on her own account.

The door to Snape's office opened with a slight creek. The man did not bother with a ceremonious invitation, he just urged Emma to sit down on the chair opposite to his own, a modified desk of iron surface between them. On top of the desk were spread several rolls of parchment, an inkwell, several empty vials in rows and a massive oil lamp, covering the items with a layer of golden glow. The other source of light was the fire pit warming up a medium-sized cauldron that stood solidly a bit away from the desk. The vapors emerging from the cauldron, too, gave a soft, golden light that moved up with the heat.

Emma couldn't help but took a quick look around as soon as Snape hurried over to the said cauldron, taking a ladle and a set of vials with him. What stood on the shelves and in bookcases along the walls of the man's office was not necessarily what a student would imagine there to be in a potion's professor's private chambers: various books with their backbones either ripped away or severely damaged as well as many oddly-shaped boxes and even some small glass showcases containing objects which shapes Emma couldn't figure out in the dim light. There were no jars full of glowing worms drowned in liquid or any sort of other disgusting animal organs. Just a regular office, giving off quite a mysterious vibe. The girl quickly fixed her eyes on her lap when Snape returned to the seat opposite of her.

"I will now set three vials before you," finally, the deep voice sounded in the chamber, surprisingly no echo coming back. The space around them felt very hermetic and Emma looked up at the man, the golden glow lightening both their faces. "Each has a small pipette, approximately equal to a rain drop in size. Using each pipette separately, dot your left forearm with one drop of each liquid."

Emma frowned and Snape noticed that.

"Miss Hawthorne, I dislike chaos and I wouldn't have brought you here if that was not an important thing," Snape's voice held irritation to it and the man glared at the girl. The look felt piercing through and Emma only nodded, trying to reason with herself. Of course it was safe to do. After all, Snape prepared that one. But then again... "Get a grip on yourself, girl. You need to cooperate."

"Yes, sir," she responded immediately and rolled up the sleeve of her night robe, revealing the pale forearm. It was spotted with several tiny black moles.

"If I waited with this until the morning, the vapors would change their properties and it would be plainly useless," Snape looked at Emma's face again and this time softened just a bit, for the girl looked like she finally got herself together. Emma returned the look and risked a reassuring smile. Snape's brow shot up a little and the girl immediately dropped her eyes to the vials, feeling her cheeks burning with shame and, well, anger. Anger of disappointment.

"I understand. I have one question, sir."

"Yes, miss Hawthorne?"

Emma hesitated for a moment, fighting the awkward feeling that built up inside her chest. "Are you sure, professor, that it's going to be alright? What are you expecting to happen, sir?"

It was then Snape who frowned.

"Hold your questions to yourself, miss Hawthorne. I'll now cast a protection spell on your forearm and it might go numb within seconds as well as your palm and fingers. Do what I asked you to do and questions will come later," his voice was rough now, as if Emma had questioned his competence which might have pinched his dignity. The girl only nodded.

"Hold your arm out my direction," Snape demanded and soon wrapped his hand around Emma's wrist, the end of his wand pointing at the middle of her forearm. He was using non-verbal magic and a silver light emerged from the tip, glowing for a moment and then it disappeared within a blink of an eye. Snape then circled the wand around the spot as if creating the testing space and finally let go of the girl's wrist.

"It's gotten numb already."

"Yes, I would assume so. Now, mark the skin with liquid drops. Be rather careful about it," the man spoke and allowed Emma to take the first vial.

She uncorked the glass bottle and put the pipette inside, allowing the liquid to gather at the tip of it. She then hovered the same pipette over the marked area of her skin and let a iridescent drop fall. As soon as it met her forearm, Emma noticed... no change. No change at all, no pain, no nothing. When her eyes shifted to Severus' face, she saw him furrow his brows softly, but he seemed rather indifferent about the result. Emma then proceeded to the next vial, doing exactly the same thing, but in a different spot.

This time, though, the skin under the drop turned aggressive purple, but there was no pain whatsoever. So indeed, it was a safe experiment. Emma chose to trust Snape after all. She felt almost an urge when the result showed, because then she could demand at least some explanation.

"Professor-"

"Keep going, miss Hawthorne," Snape interrupted Emma harshly and gestured at the remaining vial. Emma couldn't help but obeyed and stayed quiet.

That time, too, the skin turned the same aggressive colour and Snape's brow furrowed even more deeply, causing his face to look dramatically in the candle light. Almost scary, but Emma knew there was probably nothing to be afraid of. She looked up to watch the man but he soon felt the look on himself and his eyes shifted from the forearm to Emma's own. The look lasted for a good couple of seconds.

The door of the office opened with the same creek and inside stepped the headmaster and professor Flitwick, which looked slightly ridiculously, but considering the seriousness of the matter, Emma held her smile to herself. She was slightly flushed but at the same time disappointed that their time alone was so scarce. She turned her head to face the both men straight.

"Good evening, headmaster, professor Flitwick," the girl said quietly, feeling awkward creeping in again. After all, she was not the one who took off to Snape's office by herself, she only did what madam Pomfrey allowed her to do, which was answering Snape's urgent request. Still, the situation was a bit uneasy. She was in her teacher's office past bed-time and marking her forearm with different, unknown to her substances to check for something she didn't even understand. Emma had never given that a single thought.

"Severus," professor Flitwick's high-pitched voice sounded in the chamber as the little man approached the desk and quickly scanned all the items spread across the metal surface. "The headmaster informed me of your, well, experiment, so to speak," he continued and Emma could hear the slight anger in the man's voice. Dumbledore, too, looked a little bit concerned, but he trusted Snape more than everyone ever did. At least he always manifested that, at every occasion. "I would not like to scold you, you are my fellow, but I reckon you should have first informed me about all and at least ask me to accompany you. Since when are you the head of the Ravenclaw house, may I ask?"

Emma glanced at Snape whose face expressed pure irritation, it became bitter and uninviting yet again. The previous, almost completely smooth expression disappeared within moments.

"All I care about is finding out all that's possible about the poison, Filius. If I waited any longer, my work would be in vain, the school would lose valuable supplies which costs are highly over-priced and we would be two steps away from revealing the necessary hints and information," Snape's voice was disturbingly quiet and monotonous, as it was rough. "So consider that in your accounting," he finished with a hiss and kept his eyes on the little man.

"That's all very good, but this is a student, a hurt student, and the students' health and safety is the school's top priority. We cannot sacrifice someone's well-being over a cauldron and an experiment, Severus. I still allege you should have asked either headmaster's or mine assistance before acting," Flitwick ended and the silence fell upon the two.

"I must agree with Filius, Severus," Dumbledore's voice diluted the dense atmosphere of the chamber. "Please refrain from doing that. I, too, want to solve this disturbing case as soon as possible and make sure the school is safe, but miss Hawthorne should be resting in the infirmary now instead of taking in the dampness and coolness of the dungeons."

Emma couldn't decide which side she supported. Professor Flitwick and Dumbledore were very right and she did value safety, too, but on the other hand she would give much to understand why the poison reached her and what really happened, what was the real ice berg, not only the top of it.

"I'm fine, headmaster," she finally spoke. "Believe me, I would have protested if it bothered me in any way, and I'm sure madam Pomfrey did inform you about all that happened. I also want to quickly solve this issue... Or at least be of assistance. I can't, being in the infirmary."

The three men were looking at Emma with a bit of surprise. She could see the irritation in Snape's eyes decreasing a bit, but it was still there. Flitwick was convinced and so seemed Dumbledore.

"I'm sorry, professor, if I worried you in any way," Emma turned to Flitwick and the little man shook his head. Of course, they both knew that there was nothing dangerous happening around, but the girl understood the concern and she respected it.

"It's fine, miss Hawthorne. I would rather you went back to the hospital wing, though," the man sent Severus a glance and looked back to her. Emma knew those two were not necessarily close friends, she wouldn't even dare say acquaintances. They were just fellow teachers. Snape would barely try to make bounds with the rest of the teachers from what everyone was saying.

"Yes, professor," Emma was about to stand up, but something pointy pressed against her forearm and she saw Snape's wand stopping her from moving and she did obey, relaxing against the back of the chair.

"I will need five more minutes to check the final result and take off the spell," the man's voice sounded in the room and Dumbledore approached the desk, leaning over the construction to take a close look at the marks.

"Fine, Severus, but do make sure that miss Hawthorne is back at the hospital wing whole and safe, will you," the headmaster held his sight at the potion's master and the man was almost made to nod in agreement, under Dumbledore's demanding look. The elderly man then turned towards Emma. The girl couldn't almost contain herself. There would be five more minutes with Snape, and Snape alone. The disappointment was gone within a blink of an eye.

"Alright, Severus, I will see you tomorrow at breakfast," Flitwick's voice held something challenging to it and the man followed Dumbledore out of the office afterward, closing the door carefully. Suddenly, the room became completely quiet and peaceful, and Emma looked at the man who sat - hunching a bit - opposite her. He had the weary expression back on his face and the girl had an urge to just send him a reassuring smile, but quickly recollected and realised that it wasn't her friend who sat across from her; it was Severus Snape, someone inaccessible.

"Let's proceed, then, miss Hawthorne," he finally spoke and his voice sounded less rough, too. That time Emma just couldn't help but finally smiled. Snape took hold of her wrist yet again and leaned in to observe the skin. Emma would soon learn more and she felt internally excited about it. The awkward pajamas, the damp hair and the chilly air didn't matter anymore; it was just her and her... beloved.


	7. The first ingredient

"I hope now you can tell me about what you've already found out, sir," the female voice sounded in the room and the black-haired man sitting at the opposite end of the desk slowly raised his head from above the forearm that was held out his way and his eyes set upon the pale face, and the mouth that uttered the sound. The girl could tell he was not in mood to talk, he was not in mood to communicate with her at all. But she also believed he owed her at least as much as sharing his knowledge. Emma looked the man in the eye and patiently waited for his answer, regardless of what he felt about it.

"I suppose," came the final words and Severus went back to observing the changes on the skin. Within a few minutes that they wasted on the conversation with professors Dumbledore and Flitwick, the second stain changed the colour from the previously aggressive purple to a very fair lilac; the third one, though, remained the same, just as the 'no-change' mark. Emma suspected it mattered, although herself she didn't recall any potion or an ingredient that would cause the skin to turn such colours – and she did study potions a lot, even if only to remain within the top three. The knowledge was still there and Emma did not have problems applying it to reality. She only wished the same would be with her thoughts and imagination, or the theories about feelings. If it was so easy to apply them to her real life...

"It is so far as I have expected," Snape continued, having acknowledged Emma's true curiosity and readiness to take the knowledge in. Emma suspected he detested when people asked their questions and never paid attention to the answer, just like the less able students in class would do. He would explain the issue to them and they would forget the solution within a blink of an eye. "Putting the less often used ingredients aside, tonight I've managed to find the first unusual one. Its vapors are disturbingly sweet in scent and fluorescent green in colour. They get paler with time, and fast."

Listening to Snape talking about the potion was interesting. Not only in terms of the knowledge itself; Emma smiled softly and watched the man as he spoke and realised his face was changing each time he drifted to the subject he felt comfortable around. He had no one to distract or interrupt him in his office – except for her, but Severus was probably quite sure she would not dare to – and he truly put some effort in the case. Emma had an impression that overwhelming himself with work gave the man some kind of an escape.

"_Cicuta_, commonly known as the water hemlock," Snape continued after returning Emma the glance. "The symptoms match those that you have experienced. That being – among many others – tremors, nausea, dizziness, weakness; and the list goes on. The only thing that makes me question its use in the potion is the time after which the symptoms occur. This is where you answer my questions."

The smile was gone. Emma's wrist was free again and she almost pouted at how cold it then felt, how light and strange. She grew used to the man's touch after mere few minutes and the thought that it might never happen again washed over her like an ice-cold waterfall. Emma focused wholly on how the man's hand felt around her wrist and hoped that the shadow of that feeling would linger on her skin for as long as possible. The limb remained spread across the table.

"Yes?" the girl quickly recollected. So he yet again made a suggestion she was actually needed in this. Well, of course she was, after all the whole issue was focused on what happened to _her_, but it just felt as if behind a glass wall; as if she was watching herself from outside the body. Snape only glanced at the girl again and continued.

"Were you straight after dinner when you drank that poison, miss Hawthorne?"

Emma's brows furrowed. The incident happened a few days prior and the girl put some great effort into going back to the one that a group of girls stopped her by the dormitory room, making her drink the potion. She recalled the dense atmosphere of the place, the blue silks hanging from the ceiling above their heads, the slightly piercing pain at the back of the eyes and skull after having read just a moment too long. What time was it?

"No, sir," Emma spoke after almost a minute of silence in thought. "I was late to dinner that day, because I was helping out a few Hufflepuffs with their homework in the library after class. They ran off to the Great Hall then, and I followed, and arrived there at seven. I ate a lot that evening, though, if it helps. And then I was back in the common room, and ate half a pack of chocolate cauldrons... these with Fire Whisky," the girl tried to muffle the last words a bit, or at least lower her voice. Of course the alcohol chocolates were not in any way prohibited at Hogwarts – after all they sold them in Honeydukes and _everyone_ bought sweets there – but Emma had this slight addiction to them. Chocolate cauldrons were the only sweet treat she could stomach. And those were what she found – along with a very interesting book on enchanted gardening - in the last Christmas package she received in her fourth year from her father before he...

Snape seemed to watch her carefully as she spoke, but when she did, her eyes drifted to the far corner of the room, trying to focus on something neutral as to not disturb her mind remembering the scenes. When Emma's eyes shifted to the man, though, she flushed a bit and dropped them to the desk.

"That gives me the clear image, then," the man said and raised one brow, as if expecting something of Emma. She dared to glance up again to catch that urging look on Snape's face and realised he was expecting her to figure out at least one thing. That challenged her tired mind a bit more.

"Is the time of the symptoms disclosure dependent on the digestion time...?" Emma risked a thought, the only one that came to her mind after another ten-or-more second wonder. She earned a really uninviting huff from the man across from her and the girl clenched her teeth, the slight unease creeping in again.

"Very inventive, miss Hawthorne, for a five-year-old," Snape's face suddenly showed a lot of irony, something that Emma hated to see on anyone. It gave people that disgusting mask and made the girl do whatever she could to try to stay away from them; and she hated to realise that the man she cared for so much could hold such a negative trait. The air suddenly became heavier than before, making Emma almost visibly shrink. Her shoulders sunk. "And to think I took you for a moderately wise student – not impressive, miss Hawthorne. When the ingredient is extremely strong, the digestion time does not play any major role, at least not in the wizarding world. There must have been something you ate that postponed the sickness. It might have been the alcohol in the dessert you had. It might have been something you took in with the dinner. Do you take any pills?"

Emma couldn't say a word. To be so trampled by the one that had much an important place within her heart felt too much for her to bear, at least for the time being. The girl couldn't bring herself to look up at the man and give him a quick answer, she couldn't even dare to shift her sight to anything around; her eyes were stuck, focused on the middle of the metal desk. Her heart was pounding and her hands sweating; she has never experienced anything like that in her lifetime.

"I asked you a question, Hawthorne."

"No, I don't," came the response and Emma tried to fight the horrible feeling that washed over her. She knew that at that moment her emotions had to be put aside for the sake of research. But she so hated the way Snape called her by just her second name like he did with all those students he reckoned didn't deserve his respect.

"Well, that makes it harder. It will take a lot longer than I suspected," Severus muttered but before he could add anything to the sentence, Emma got herself together and looked at him.

"Are you going to need my arm any longer, professor?" came the question and the room turned quiet, the only sound being their breaths. Emma could see Snape's facial expression change to a slightly surprised and yet again bitter one and the man drew his wand, circling the spell trace left on the skin with its tip. He then grabbed a bottle and a clean cloth from the drawer at his side and with a swift movement cleared Emma's forearm from the potion marks. The girl slowly brought her limbs to herself, feeling the numbness cease.

"Thank you."

"""

He had her follow him to the door of the hospital wing and left her there without a word. Emma mouthed her _thank you_ when he was walking away and into the dark depths of the corridor and pushed the door open, immediately heading her own bed somewhat away from the entrance. She felt for the blanket and quickly discarded her terry night robe, sliding into the surprisingly warm bed. The Gryffindor boy was snoring quietly and herself Emma suddenly felt a wave of sleepiness wash over her, getting her to fall asleep within moments. The only thought on her mind before drifting away was actually a question: was she just not smart enough, or did he just want to blow off some steam? Or both... Or maybe none?


	8. Limited freedom

The first thing Emma did after having woken up to the rain drumming against the window pane was to touch her forearm in all the three spots she tested the liquid on the previous night. After a great dose of deep sleep the memories were projected before the eyes of her mind in a blurry way, as if very distant: Snape's face circled with a faint golden glow of candle light, as if during some kind of a weird ritual, the sudden entering of the headmaster and professor Flitwick, the hope and then rejection and finally the quiet way back to the hospital wing. Emma couldn't remember whether he turned to look over his shoulder on his way back to his office or not; her heart urged her to think he did.

The snoring of the Gryffindor boy interrupted the projection and Emma looked around to search for the clock that was hanging somewhere near, from what she remembered. It was still only half past six, the usual time students woke up to get to the Great Hall for breakfast. How she wished she could get out of this sanitary cage and see the few people she enjoyed being around, get to go to class as on a daily basis, go to the library and find something interesting, or just do any of the regular things that don't necessarily excite her every day.

"Have you slept well, miss Hawthorne?" madam Pomfrey appeared in the chamber and simply approached the girl's bed, bringing a small glass of greenish liquid. She set it ontop of the end table. Emma sat, straightening her back at the same time and nodded, even though it has not been the best sleep of her life.

"It was alright."

"Well, I do have rather good news for you, dear," the elderly witch searched for Emma's eyes and smiled in a manner she rarely did: very broadly. It seemed as though she felt compassionate about the girl and wanted to cheep her up, which Emma appreciated greatly. But what the news were, she had no idea. "Professor Dumbledore came to talk to me a few moments before and instructed me to let you free out of the hospital wing. He said that you should re-join the regular classes whenever you are ready today, but seeing you woke up in rather a good condition...-"

"Oh, thank you!" Emma almost exclaimed and shot up, her eyes shining and the excitement overwhelming her whole body. But why was the news so sudden? Did the previous night's meeting made the headmaster change his mind? Whatever did, the girl felt obliged to thank it.

"Yes, well, you should thank professor Dumbledore if there's a chance. He seemed quite out of it – if I can speak so about such a serious figure – this morning. Maybe – along with other professors - they discovered some sort of a hint? Whatever it is, he surely won't be around much today." Pomfrey sent the girl one last comforting look with a smile and she gestured at the potion she set for her to drink. "This will be your last. It's, well, it will give you a boost for today. You have been laying in bed for days now and coming back to the regular classes isn't so easy after a break. Drink it and you are free to go, dear."

"Thank you for your care, madam Pomfrey," Emma reached for the glass as soon as the woman hurried away towards her own things and she emptied it within two sips – it was disgusting as usually, tasting of rotten grass, but it didn't matter anymore. She was absolutely free to go.

The Great Hall was busy as always. Walking through the massive wooden door for the first time in a week impressed Emma as she brushed the black hair off of her face and almost nervously searched for the familiar faces of May, Owen and Greta. The wave of students that suddenly pushed inside interrupter her search – some even gave her the odd looks as if she didn't fit in the hurried atmosphere of the morning – and she finally decided to just sit somewhere around the front of the dining hall, at the top of the Ravenclaw table and near the teachers' one. She hoped to both be able to at least nod towards Dumbledore in gratitude and hoped to catch professor Snape's sight, something she has been so wishing to do. Maybe her friends would be able to spot her more easily that way, too.

Just when Emma took place and began to pick up some foods, someone's arms wrapped around her like a set of tentacles, pulling her into a massive embrace; the body behind her felt pleasantly spongy and a mane of curly hair covered her vision. The sudden familiarity caused Emma to feel this sting inside her chest, very uncalled for – but that was out of happiness.

"Oh, May," Emma held her friend close to herself and lost herself in that moment; even though May visited her the day before, she was the only one who actually came. Emma, of course, didn't really blame the other two of her friends, it was just that usually when the time came, it would be May to stick close to her and never let her down. Sometimes Emma doubted she deserved such a friend, for there had been rarely a situation in which May would need help – the Hufflepuff would just deal with issues before Emma realised they were there. She cursed how unpractical and out of place she sometimes was – so unable to find herself in life the proper way, the normal way. It felt just difficult sometimes.

"Emmie, why haven't you let me know you would be out today?!" finally the other let go and sat by Emma's side, the almost sparkly gray eyes boring into her own, but in a good way.

"Trust me, I only learned that myself when I woke up today. But... I'm finally free," she smiled broadly.

"Yes, but you still look lousy, Emmie. Sorry," May chuckled as she realised how unfriendly it sounded. Emma shook her head, reassuring the other the did understand.

"I know. I always do. I wish I was more full of life. It's really uncool to be such a miserable lot. And in love- … Oh god."

There, she said it. The only thing she wished she could keep to herself forever until something came out of it – or not, so she could forget – just spilled out of her mouth at the sudden relief she felt by having a close friend by. And May's face went through the exact stages that Emma imagined: from a deep shock, through slight worry to excitement. Emma shifted her eyes away but May managed to capture the embarrassment and the girl caught Emma's hand rather rapidly.

"With whom?"

Emma quickly moved her eyes towards the teachers' table to see professor Snape putting his goblet down on the surface and gathering his belongings to finally stand up. That was when his head finally turned her direction, the general direction of the Ravenclaw part of the hall and Emma noticed a slight pause of his movement, but he soon looked away and just started to walk towards the door.

"Emmie... are you serious...? Are you sure?" May's voice made her shift her eyes back to her friend and Emma noticed – to her horror – that the other knew perfectly towards whom Emma's feeling were directed. And the look on May's face shown that she was very far from either accepting it or calling it normal.

"May..."

"No, don't. Emma, this is a teacher. A grumpy man in his – what – late twenties? Thirties? He is always bitter and unfair, and for no particular reason! He only tolerates Ravenclaws and _maybe_ likes Slytherins. He _barely_ likes or tolerates anyone else. God forbid it!"

After a long moment of silence where Emma just stared at her empty plate and May at Emma – with concern – the Hufflepuff finally caught the girl's hands again and brought them up, her own closing over them.

"Listen," May began, the reassuring smile coming back to her lips, although there was some sort of a pity in her eyes. "You can tell me whenever you are ready for what reasons you hold this, uh, man inside your beautiful heart. I don't even know what you're planning, and if, to do about this feeling, but you need to know one thing."

Emma finally dared to look at May and she mentally sighed with relief. "Yes?"

"Education and friends. This is the priority, Emmie. Now I understand why you always cram so much before every lesson... But changing yourself this much isn't impressive. You already are a beautiful person and you don't need to prove anything to anyone. To me, you are the best. It was my effort to get to know you and I don't regret a moment of it. Please, don't let this feeling ruin your life," May's voice sounded very warm and yet it held a great concern that almost caused Emma to shed a tear. "I can't make you do anything, or make you stop... caring about certain people, but I can give you advice. An advice that works. I would hate to see you get hurt."

May's words hit her with a force she wouldn't suppose they would. Emma was so fixated upon the sudden imaginary connection that her and Snape seemingly had – something she just purely imagined when she let her mind gallop on on a particularly melancholic night – that she forgot to consider all the possible sides of her thoughts. And it hurt. It hurt a lot to be strong enough to realise that, but she had to.

"I... have to think about it all, May," she responded quietly and sent her friend a half-smile.

"Alright, alright," the girl wrapped her arm around Emma's shoulder as if trying to quickly get back to the regular mood; Emma gave her her consent and May quickly occupied herself with putting food on Emma's plate while she was occupied with thoughts. Sometimes May did get into the role of her mother, especially after she learned that her real one had passed away during the holiday between the third and fourth grade. It was a terrible time for Emma and that was when she sifted all her so called friends and only a few remained. With their help she managed to get back to regular life and thanks to her intelligence and reason she was able to help herself a lot, too.

They had potions that day. It wasn't as awkward as Emma feared it would mainly because Severus Snape paid little attention to individuals in his class. All he did was to give a small introduction, sometimes ask questions – which would happen on his bad day – give a potion instruction and just to go sit down and grade papers or read. Sometimes he would walk around to check, but that was saved for another day. It seemed as though he has completely forgotten about the previous night. Emma, being prepared as usually and knowing most of the ingredients, would just follow the instruction and simply let the time pass. She was the only one from among her friends who took potions in their sixth and seventh year.

Owen aspired to work in the Ministry of Magic in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, so he took history of magic, muggle studies and numerology in his advanced classes. Greta aimed for quidditch and quidditch alone. She has been on the team since her second year and already managed to get an award for playing in some minor championship outside Hogwarts on the chaser's position. And there was May who firstly had absolutely no idea, because she wanted to do everything and nothing at the same time. With Emma's help she settled for the herbology path; she did excel at this class and becoming a professor in the future sounded exciting for the other. And there was Emma, who aimed for the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes – her dream was to make things right again and it suited that vision of herself in the next ten years. And it required a massive knowledge.

So the minutes were passing and Snape would still be reading the Daily Propher and the few students would still be struggling with their potions. Emma was stuck, too, at the last point. She decided to just leave the potion be that way, even though there was an urge to raise a hand and ask Snape a question so he would come over if his mood allowed. The point said to lower the temperature of the potion, add blood worms blood and stir twice clockwise. Emma couldn't undo the fact she already poured the blood into the cauldron and stirring more than necessary would probably cause something uncalled for. So she sat back and watched her palms, pushing back the urge to watch Snape.

"Is the lesson so particularly boring that you have to not pay attention to work, miss Hawthorne?" the bitter, deep male voice reached everyone's ears and they all turned to see Emma relaxed against the back of the chair. The girl shot up very quickly and cursed the moment she decided for a little rest. And she couldn't find a reason for the man to act the way he did. Was he angry at her? Or was he the regular himself Emma failed to notice under the thick veil of her imagined look?

"I'm sorry, sir," she cleared her throat. "I was stuck at the last step and didn't want to do anything stupid, so I stopped-"

"So you gave up. That is not the attitude we teach at this school and I think you should know it by now, miss Hawthorne. Five points from Ravenclaw for the lack of interest and thought. Now find a way to keep this potion going or else you can _do something stupid_ by leaving it as it is. Use your head, miss Hawthorne."

The Ravenclaw girl that sat behind her let out a sigh of disappointment and Emma clenched her teeth, feeling just stupid. The embarrassment crept across her as she quickly grabbed a book and started to hurriedly turn the pages in order to find anything that would help her miserable condition. After about thirty seconds she did indeed find a solution and as soon as she read what the book said, the girl felt a raging anger starting to build up inside her chest.

_Add the blood worm blood slowly as you stir clockwise two times _was what the book said. _Add the blood worm blood. Stir clockwise, twice _was what Snape put on the blackboard. Did he want to put his anger out on students by writing such nonsense and then fish for those who failed, like she did? Most of the people didn't even get to that point by the time Emma did, anyway.

Emma's eyes moved up and again that day met Snape's. When not confronting students directly, his expression was different – yet again weary and bitter, not so severe. It seemed he knew she knew, which made the girl frown and just slowly shift her eyes back to her cauldron as she began to counter her previous actions to keep the potion from getting bad.

That man was unfair. She finally had to realize that.

"Hawthorne, you stay," sounded in the classroom as the general chaos of everyone packing their things occurred. Emma was very ready to leave and hoped she would be able to – after all potions were the last class, she felt extremely hungry and didn't want to spend a minute more with Snape in any place. Not after how he acted towards her and, well, everyone that day. So when he called her to approach his desk, Emma felt the tears pushing to her eyes. It was so hard to face the reality after being closed in a room of her mind with a non-existent, picture-perfect image of someone. She felt betrayed in many ways.

The last two students who left gave them the odd looks and slammed the door close. Emma winced at the noise and remained standing, looking down at the man's unpleasant face.

"You shouldn't be giving such example, miss Hawthorne. You used to be the top student of your grade, at least in potions, and I do expect you to keep up, even if you have faced what you did lately. I will not tolerate lack of interest. Otherwise you are free to go."

Emma in no way expected it to be that short. And his words oddly didn't sound like scolding – maybe a bit, but mainly... disappointment? A bit of anger? Attempt at motivating her? Whatever his words were meant to be, the girl merely stood there looking at him, confused. The universe of feelings she searched to find the one that would describe her current state was just too large so she simply stood there processing.

"Is there any problem, miss Hawthorne?" he asked after a moment and Emma stopped even trying to comprehend for good.

"There is, sir."

It was then Snape who raised his eyebrow and leaned in a bit, indicating a will to counter all the girl would say.

"I have only one question. Why?"

"Why what, miss Hawthorne?"

"Why do you do this?"

Snape frowned deeply and didn't move an inch – instead, he opened his mouth to speak but the words came a bit later. "I think you are forgetting yourself, Hawthorne." His voice got quieter and Emma froze in place, thinking she must have crossed Snape's safety border. And the courtesy border, too. All the borders of the world. "I am not, in any way, a friend or colleague or yours. You should address me properly if you require my attention. Now you have none. You are dismissed, miss Hawthorne. One more word and you will be sorting the ingredients for two weeks, every day."

Emma could not move an inch, yet she didn't even utter a sound. Her nature was not of the bold and restitutionary one, but there was this urge to otherwise speak. Pushing it back with all her might, the girl only nodded and turned around to leave. Her steps were slow and undecided as her mind battled the urge's last hope to be released. And then, as soon as her hand rested on the doorknob, she couldn't hold back.

"Even if this is what it takes for me to get an answer, I will ask anyway. Sir."

She gained a noise that sounded almost like a growl. Emma turned around to finally face professor Snape and she discovered he was to his feet and heading her direction in a dramatic manner. She stood in place, although intimidated. The man stopped two steps away from the girl and pierced her with his scolding look. Emma did her best to hold through the dense atmosphere that suddenly filled the classroom and she leaned against the door in a defensive manner.

"My words are not in vain, Hawthorne. Detention starts tonight after dinner in this classroom. You will be sitting here alone sorting worms. I don't have time for this."

"Yes. Can you, then, answer my question now, professor?"

The silence that fell upon them felt heavy and unpleasant. They both looked at each other and Emma couldn't bring herself to shift her eyes away from the man's face. It was changing with every second that passed, from anger through irritation to weary annoyance. It seemed as though inside himself Snape was also battling some kind of a thought. As if there were two personalities in one man and Emma couldn't figure out which was the main – or the only – one. Snape most probably had some sort of an explanation.

"I do this to keep all of you dunderheads thinking. There are never enough opportunities to use your brain. If this didn't answer your annoying question, then nothing will, Hawthorne."

"Sir..." Emma shook her head. "I... Alright... Let me rephrase the question. Does your attitude have anything to do with what happened yesterday, sir?" And that was one brave question; Emma couldn't believe she actually brought herself to asking it. She also couldn't believe the genuine surprise that suddenly appeared on the man's face. He quickly hid it under the regular mask.

"_Why_ would such a thing even cross your mind, miss Hawthorne?"

"I'm not sure myself, sir... I... I don't even know why I asked," Emma's voice got quieter with every word until she could barely hear herself at all. "I'm sorry, professor, for causing you trouble. I will be here after dinner for detention," Emma waited for a moment and after seeing no reaction whatsoever, she slowly began to open the door, hoping that her leaving would go smoothly and she would be able to despair about that all over a plate of warm food by herself; or that May would comfort her the way she did at breakfast.

When the door was open enough for Emma to leave – which she was about to do - she suddenly yelled and jumped back at how rapidly and violently Snape slammed them close right in front of her face. The girl's heart skipped a beat out of shock.

"Sit down."

She wordlessly did. Her mind was blank and her heart wanted to jump out of her chest.

**I would like to apologise for how late the next chapter appeared. I have been in a foreign place where my opportunities to write were scarce and then I travelled overseas for some time. I hope that you enjoyed this one, anyway.**


	9. Legilimency

"Sit down."

There was a very unnatural feeling to the man's sudden increase of anger and annoyance, and there seemed to be fury being born within him that began to slowly surface as Emma took a seat, frozen to the bone and with a feeling she must have done something so very bad – and yet, reaching to search her mind she could not find a single thing; maybe except for the slightly improper question. Was that what brought Snape over the edge in all of the sudden?

Emma didn't believe so. Partially knowing the man – his superficial side - from the moment he joined Hogwarts to teach potions, the girl suspected him to be – maybe unconsciously – pulling different pieces out of his mind and imagination and putting them together into a very offensive story, most often a very unfair one, about a student. Everyone, literally everyone thought Severus Snape was unjust from the very beginning. As much as Emma – in her own head – tried to justify the unjustness, she never fully could. She suspected him having had a tough childhood or something else of this sort, but never went the actual distance to find out; she, as always, admired from afar, letting her imagination do all the work and take her to a whole different point of view.

"Listen to me, you nosy girl," Snape's voice was disturbingly low and calm as he almost hissed through his teeth as he hovered over Emma and looked her straight in the eye. The girl felt her palms starting to sweat as they got colder and she finally truly felt how chilly the dungeons were, for previously that place only brought her the bittersweet happiness of being able to study and just be in Snape's presence. She never paid attention to the low temperature. "Do not think I'm incapable of putting the pieces together. The poison might have been an accident – a stupid one – but do you really think you can get away with the rest? What on earth is there in your head? What is the point of it?"

As soon as Snape finished, he straightened up and then he towered over her even more, at which Emma crossed her arms in front of her chest, as if shielding herself from the boring look the man was giving her. The ambivalence of the feelings towards him, the sudden stress and confusion, the inability to think reasonably – it all made Emma clench her teeth as she tried to push back the tears that began to gather in the corners of her eyes.

"I... I'm afraid I don't understand, sir," her answer came at which Snape frowned even more deeply and his piercing look intensified. The anger was now a hundred percent visible, painted over his adult face like a very unattractive watercolor. It was more than sure he did not believe her.

"You don't even realise how easy for me it is to check that, Hawthorne," the man said and reached to draw his wand from the inside pocket of his black robe. Emma – shocked - immediately pushed back on the chair, losing her balance and falling altogether to the floor with a loud thud, and she quickly got to her feet in a defensive pose. Snape, seeing that, pointed his wand her direction and shook his head – his expression changed insignificantly and Emma understood: should he want to curse her, he would have done that a thousand times already. Instead, he took to blackmailing her, which sadly worked.

"You dunderhead girl," he spoke. "Legilimency is strictly prohibited in this school. Think about it the next time you _think too much_ about things. Now go!" Snape motioned towards the wooden door with his wand, casting a nonverbal spell on them to get them open. Emma quickly grabbed her bag and almost immediately left the place, an avalanche of thoughts rapidly going down her mind as she dynamically walked down the corridors towards the main staircase. Her heart was still pounding inside her chest. There must have been a point, he must have been referring to something she knew, maybe unconsciously, but did. But what could it be?

Emma darted into the Great Hall in a manner a bit more dramatic than she meant to. Apparently only a few students were left in the chamber, mostly of Ravenclaw and Gryffindor and most of them turned their heads towards the source of the sudden commotion at the entrance. Emma walked inside almost tripping over her own feet as she withstood the quick glances of fellow students and she knew that people already knew who the poisoning victim was; and that was, obviously, her. That knowledge made the girl's guts quake a bit for of all things she really wished to remain as anonymous as possible in terms of social issues. The only moment she wanted to be recognised in was the one in which she would get excellent results in class or... in Snape's presence by the man himself. Despite the ambivalence she held towards him, there was even more of _him_ inside her head now.

Soon she reached her own table and her eyes spotted – to her utmost relief – Owen sitting by himself, reading a massive book, probably for the sake of the next day's lecture. His hay-colored hair was shaggier than usually and stood out in many directions, giving him the looks of not much of a genius that he indeed was. Emma thanked all that was on Earth for this possibility to let her mind wander away from the stressful subject of the detention and the latest occurrence in the classroom. Neither Greta nor May were to be spotted around and that gave the girl another relief for sometimes she preferred the uncomplicated company of boys.

"Hi, Owen," she spoke quietly towards his ear as she took a seat on the boy's left. As soon as Emma did, Owen shivered violently as if being pulled out of deep thought and he turned to face her. Within moments his arms were around her back and she was being cuddled very closely.

"Oh, Emma, how good to see you," Owen spoke against her shoulder as his hand kept on stroking her back with care. He always did that and it always helped. "I really apologise I didn't come to visit you, but you see-"

"It's alright, Owen."

"No, it's not. Greta needed my help when I was done and-"

"Honestly, I understand."

"You are always so accepting of things, I don't understand that sometimes. I'm supposed to be your best friend and what's the reality? I don't even-"

"Shh."

Emma pulled back and caught the boy's hands and just as she did, a figure went past them towards the teachers' table. The figure was clad in black, tall, and walked in that one characteristic manner. Of course it was _him_. The realisation came slowly and then Emma was stressed again, clenching her teeth and thinking of how the whole situation must have looked like for Snape. She cuddled with a boy. She was holding his hands. Was that not obvious?

She quickly let go of Owen's palms and moved her eyes to the food that stood exposed on various plates, spread across the table.

"Emma?"

Of course, Owen wasn't stupid, and he was even quite excelling at reading people's minds, or at least reading the air about them, which he did with the girl. Besides, it was probably Emma who was absolutely unskillful in that matter – other people behaved just plainly normal.

"It's nothing. I... well, I was hoping at least one of you would be here to talk to. I got a detention, that's all," the girl tried to sound as natural as possible, but Owen – knowing her better than anyone – reacted immediately. He shook his head in disbelief, but his hazel eyes shown warm compassion and yet a bit of a pity and surprise.

"But you... oh, Emma, how? What happened? I'm sure it must have been a mistake. Or a professor's bad day. Myself I would never give you – out of all people – such a hard time, especially after knowing what lengths you go to to excel as you do-"

"He had the best reason of them all, Owen."

"What 'he'?"

"Professor Snape."

Owen immediately glanced over Emma's shoulder at the teachers' table that stood to his left. Emma did not dare to follow his example and she just sat there motionlessly, the appetite having long before disappeared.

When his eyes were back searching her face, Emma knew he decided to quit all the questions. That's why she valued him so much as a friend – he always knew when to back off and stop inquiring.

"Today?"

"And for the next two weeks, I'm afraid," the girl attempted at a smile but the shaken feeling still lingered about her heart and she couldn't bring herself to complete serenity, and she failed. "But I will only be sorting ingredients, as they all usually do during his detention. Fortunately I'm a couple of lectures ahead, so this won't be a thing to worry about. I will only miss the time I could be spending with you, Greta and May. Especially now that I'm free from the hospital wing."

Owen nodded but then suddenly froze in place and his expression changed to a one that Emma recognised: he remembered something rather important.

"Speaking of which," the boy began and Emma finally made herself put some of the food on her plate.

"Yes?"

"You need to tell me how is the investigation proceeding! We've never heard anything solid, but I already have a theory or two."

Emma sighed and chewed on the pie bite, taking time to actually focus on the answer. So how was the investigation actually proceeding? Well, there were the few tests that Snape included her in and probably a few more that she had no idea of; there were probably serious visits of at least two Ministers in the headmaster's office; nothing solid found, not even a hint so far. There were only theories and Owen's would add to the sack of unanswered questions and pending answers that no one was able to pull out. How was she even supposed to answer Owen's?

"The only thing I know that proceeded is the issue of poison itself. Ingredients. Only a couple are found out for sure."

"Oh?"

"Yes, one of them is water hemlock."

"Seriously?!"

Emma tilted her head to one side, quite confused at how surprised Owen seemed to be. After all, he was not assigned to the potions classes and he was not all that interested in that matter, so to speak. Even though he had the basic – or maybe even an intermediate – knowledge, he would rather not deepen that. And yet he seemed to be moved by the ingredient more than the girl herself, who, after all, exceeded in potions.

"You don't realise, do you?"

"I don't realise what? What are you talking about, Owen?"

"I see that my theory might be right after all... I had a gut feeling-"

"Can you finally tell me what's on your mind?"

Emma was slowly getting annoyed; it was typical for Owen to just space off and into the world of his own thoughts and ideas in the middle of the conversation, and have everyone involved hold with him, too. That was the thing she sometimes detested about the genius that Owen was – and she wasn't the first to judge.

"The meadows surrounding Hogsmeade are full of water hemlock all year around!"

The sudden discovery or, well, a realisation struck Emma and she made the necessary calculation inside of her head and... she still could not follow the very point of Owen's supposedly right idea about the whole situation. So there was a steady and all-time access to one of the poisonous ingredients in an area close by. But that point didn't allow her to make any progress in unraveling anything more. Owen probably noticed the storm of thoughts and he suddenly grabbed Emma by her shoulder and made her get to her feet with him. The girl thoughtlessly did, but then she ceased to move and looked to the teachers' table; she then sighed.

"Emma? Come with me to the library, I have to show you something!"

"I can't go, Owen. Remember what I told you? About the detention?"

"Yes, but it will only take a moment...-"

"I can't."

And so Owen's theory had to be put to the later discussion. With them two sharing the common room it wouldn't be much of an issue and they could spend all the time they needed on the talk. Owen would most probably get the needed book from the library anyway, Emma thought, and they would be able to search for something in the Ravenclaw tower, too. At that moment, descending into the chill of the dungeons, Emma wished the detention would go as smoothly as humanly possible without any awkward or trouble standing in the way. The girl had to admit her passionate heart somewhat closed – or at least stood half-open – for the one who occupied her head for at least a month prior. She was unconsciously going through this kind of a change that would either strengthen her feelings or help them cease to be, the second option slightly less probable than the former.

Knocking on the door leading to the potions classroom, Emma held her breath for a few seconds, but she did not hear a sound in response to her making the noise. Snape must have been either inside his office or with business at the Headmaster's office in his tower. Since she didn't want to risk even more trouble, Emma simply sat down on the stone floor and leaned slowly against the stone wall. The chill was suddenly absorbed by her body and incorporated into her bloodstream, flowing through her body like a freezing river. Emma shivered violently and that was when she heard the steady footsteps echoing in the corridor. Someone was coming her direction and the girl was almost sure it was professor Snape.

"Miss Hawthorne," she heard a voice but it completely contradicted the one she expected. The one that called out to her was of Flitwick's. "I'm glad I found you. Don't worry, professor Snape is with professor Dumbledore and I am here to take you with me to meet them, as well as professors McGonagall and Sprout. Come."

Finally the tiny silhouette emerged from the darkness and Emma could only murmur a _good evening_ and follow the little man up the stairs again. Everyone was so chaotic nowadays, always moving, always doing things, running errands – she would never think professor Flitwick would really go and try to find a student. Usually he or others would send other students to do that for them. Ever since the potion accident people were more alert and more fidgety.

As soon as they reached the Headmaster's office, they moved up the mobile stairs and soon found themselves inside the chamber – it was the first time Emma visited the place and it made a stunning impression on her: all the books, the portraits and the very uncanny objects cluttering the shelves that stood lining the round walls... the curiosity and hunger for knowledge woke for a brief moment inside her heart and for a moment Emma forgot there were more important issues to deal with then. She quickly recollected.

"Good evening, professors, Headmaster," the girl said politely and followed Flitwick up the three stairs that led to the desk. Dumbledore was seated opposite everyone else, Minerva McGonagall stood to his right and the rest opposite her, to the Headmaster's left. Emma stopped between them. She was very curious and felt slightly disturbed. Did they yet again suspect her?

"Miss Hawthorne," Dumbledore started, leaning in towards her. Emma looked at the elderly man. "Professor Snape was supposed to have you serve your detention in the classroom, yes?"

Emma was dumbfounded. Did she come to that place to meet the heads of every house and to try to justify her behaviour? It seemed strange enough.

"Yes, sir."

"While preparing the ingredients for you to sort, he... made a curious discovery. And, as you know, professor Snape is a very percipient person. Before we proceed, I must ask you a question."

She was prepared for everything and nothing at the same time. Her first guess was absurd and there was nothing more she could think of.

"Tell me, miss Hawthorne," Dumbledore continued. "Have you per chance changed the colour of your hair lately? A few weeks prior? Even if it was for one mere minute, it is some essential information we need."

The question was beyond random. Emma scanned everyone's faces in search for any dose of humour in anyone's eyes or lips, but all the heads of the houses were as serious as ever. Being completely confused, the girl simply dismissed all the thoughts and just took to responding straightforward and honestly. And the most seriously she could.

"No. It has always been this colour, sir," came her response and McGonagall made a chaotic gesture with her hands.

"I told you, Albus," she spoke with a sigh. "It couldn't have been her's."

"Neither do I believe that miss Hawthorne is to blame here, but the question is jsutified," Dumbledore interrupted. "Well," he turned back to the girl. "now is the time to let you know what exactly was found in professor's Snape ingredients storage room."

Dumbledore gracefully waved his wand and a transparent – seemingly glass – cube floated up in the air and settled before Emma's eyes. She quickly glanced at everyone present and they all set their eyes back on her, and then the girl looked back to the cube. Well, it was indeed a very odd object to be found inside a storage room – and what did it have to do with her hair colour...?-

And then Emma saw the contents of the cube. There was a hair, a fair curled up hair suspended in the middle of what turned out to be a box. It was probably of the same length as Emma's – far past the shoulder blades. But it was almost white.

"The reason that all the house heads gathered here is that we need to identify whose hair this is. As absurd as it sounds – not only for you, dear, believe me – it's the only rational option we came up with," professor Sprout shook her head with a slight disbelief, but her expression showed compassion nonetheless which made Emma feel slightly more stable.

"Madam Pomfrey told us she had found a strand of fair hair that was stuck to your robe when we had found you on that hapless night, but she discarded that, so we couldn't match the two and see if these are of the same person," professor Flitwick added and everyone looked at Emma.

Only Snape didn't say a word. But he did indeed look at the girl, too, and his look was piercing-through.

"The question is," Dumbledore slowly got to his feet and approached the front of the desk, letting the cube float back to rest on top of its surface. He then looked at Emma. "Do you remember if it was a blonde person – most probably a girl – that gave you the poison?"

Emma had already calculated inside her head that a question like that was to be asked and she searched her memory beforehand. There was a blurry vision, but she couldn't be completely positive. Thinking about it...

"I believe so, sir," came the final response and Dumbledore nodded.

"If this is the case, then we will have to act tomorrow. Take all the possible _candidates_ and make a research. This is serious, Albus," Minerva said carefully and was backed by Sprout's and Flitwick's nodding of their heads. Severus only shifted his eyes the other direction. It was apparent his opinion was not crucial in any way in that conversation.

"May I ask what you are planning to do, sir?" Emma's bold question was directed at the Headmaster. The man turned his attention to the girl but it was actually McGonagall who spoke.

"We will have to interview and find the person who firstly – since we know that for sure – broke into the ingredients storage room and who secondly could be a connection to the real criminal, let's call it like that for the lack of a better word. One way or another, we will be a step closer to finding anything. If it wasn't for professor Snape's discovery, we would still be stuck."

McGonagall's half-praise was something very rare to occur and even Snape seemed to be surprised, at least a shadow of surprise swept across his bitter face.

"Now let us all return to the duties. Severus, do instruct miss Hawthorne about the detention and get back here as soon as you are finished," Dumbledore returned to his seat behind the desk and Emma saw the potions professor only nod and he gestured at her, muttering a barely audible _follow me_ in her direction. Emma bid a short farewell and indeed followed the man outside the office and yet again they found themselves walking the corridors of Hogwarts after dark. This time, though, the route was longer and more complicated. Emma tried to catch up with the man for his strides were slightly too long and dynamic.

"Sir," Emma spoke softly, trying to get his attention. After what occurred before dinner, the girl had too little time and opportunity to actually understand – or find out – what the man meant. And she wanted to know very much, just to satisfy her own curiosity.

Snape gave her a glare at which she mentally shivered. She withheld it bravely and he finally had to react.

"Yes?"

"I didn't wish for things to offend you," Emma said cautiously and watched him closely, trying to use the most neutral words and behaviour. Even though the incident made her slightly doubt her own feelings, she couldn't help but think it all of no importance as she walked by his side.

"Are you trying to talk me into releasing you from your duties, Hawthorne?"

At his insinuation Emma frowned and shook her head in an instant.

"Of course not, sir. I'm only being honest. It's an honest apology" _for something I most probably haven't done..._

Apparently honesty was not a thing close to Severus' heart for he snorted slightly and shook his head as if denying it all. But then, within a blink of an eye he stopped himself and her, and turned to face Emma in the middle of the corridor on the first floor. The girl swallowed heavily and waited for whatever was there to come, either from herself or the man. Snape's head seemed to be inching closer towards her with every second and Emma clenched her teeth; her already ice-cold hands began to sweat and the heart rate sped up.

There he was, standing directly before her, his adult face somewhat smoother and his eyes slightly narrowed. There was no one else around and the place was far away from all the common rooms of the world. Emma felt that the time was as right as ever. She gathered all her strength and decided to finally act.


	10. Confessions I

**A/N: The tenth chapter, feels like I should celebrate. I've already grown extremely attached to this story and with every appearing part it opens so many doors to so many plots and is so exciting to write and come up with ideas. Thank you all who are reading this!**

"I could not care less about your apology," he spoke quietly and Emma abruptly ceased to move.

Snape's face was mere inches away from her own and his intense, penetrating look made her freeze to the bone. To think she had the most stupid of ideas to lean in and let herself go with the flow of her feelings that suddenly exploded inside her, and that being caused just by his closeness? How absurd, how inappropriate while obviously the man continued to be indifferent... Emma felt the familiar twitch within her heart and the sudden acceleration of the blood flow hit her like it never had before. A wave of heat caused by stress washed over her and eventually she had to take a step backwards, allowing some space and distance between their bodies.

"In fact, I think you are crossing the border, Hawthorne," the voice reached her ears again and Emma looked right back at Snape's almost rock-solid face that expressed a lot more than it would seem necessary in the current situation. "What do you think you are trying to achieve? I shall warn and instruct you to mind your own business only this once more and if it doesn't work, your further attempts will not go unpunished."

With that being said the man instantly turned away from Emma and began to walk down the corridor again, his pace even quicker than previously. The swirl of air that hit the girl's face after Snape so abruptly turned his back on her made her realise he was already half-way to the exit. She recollected with a deep shock and mindlessly followed the black-clad silhouette towards the entrance to the chilly dungeons, not daring to utter a single word. Her mind began to process and link occurrences, words and gestures, trying to put together a credible image. Snape was then definitely referring to her constant _being around_ where he was, _taking part_ in most that would involve him, too... and when she realised that then – trying to keep up with the man - the only premonition her galloping mind allowed her to have was that the detention would not be solely based on her sorting the ingredients in complete silence and solitude. And she had to be prepared; she had to be one step ahead in this conversation to come, she could not be dumbfounded again and she had to – most of all – keep her emotions on a leash, not allowing them to influence her behaviour or words. The very incident a few minutes prior showed how poor her skills at stability were, though. There was just one thing that would never allow her to rest completely: what was the true base of the man's negativity?

Severus Snape was a man in his middle twenties. He was appointed the new potions teacher after professor Slughorn retired, just when Emma was in her third year. The sudden change seemed extremely exciting to all the students back then – considering they would sometimes be a wild herd of teenagers at the wake of the real puberty – but with the very first class in September all the joy of the new ceased to be. Within two weeks students were feeling as hateful towards the unjust potions teacher as ever before and Emma, too used to feel that way.

Having had lived quite a sufficient life with both her parents present at home and not all that much to worry about - except for maybe a little bit of envy that she couldn't afford things other more wealthy people could - the girl was not familiar with the type of sadness that seemed to emanate from professor Snape. Back then, at the age of fourteen – her birthday being on the fifth of October which caused her to begin attending Hogwarts a year later than a lot of others – the indicative of the _real_ sadness used to be a mild heartbreak or a few continuously bad grades on the exams, which did happen to Emma a couple of times before she was influenced by Owen when he had shared his passion for knowledge with her for the first time.

Everything changed with passing of her mother and his father's reaction to that terrible incident. Emma was then in the middle of the fourth year at Hogwarts. It was an incredibly cold winter that January and the winter trip to Hogsmeade was canceled for the amount of snow did not allow the carriages to ride properly, not to mention the students who – if taking a stroll down to the village – would most probably get lost in the two-meter wall of pure white cloud-like obstacle - even with their wands in use. So the more resourceful children had helped Hagrid and professors Sprout and Flitwick decorate the Great Hall in an appropriate theme and those who fancied could come inside, stay and have a snack throughout the whole Saturday.

So when Emma, slightly disappointed at the postponing of the long-awaited visit entered the Great Hall some time between noon and one o'clock, instead of coming across Greta or Owen, she was met with professor Flitwick's serious expression. The utter compassion in his eyes immediately told the girl something was not the way it ought to be, and when the man asked her to follow him to his office – his stride a lot quicker than usually – Emma knew it would regard herself only. Back then, trying to catch up with Flitwick, she had no slightest premonition that the information would bring her this amount of sadness. Losing a parent – Emma had never known a person who got over that painful experience completely.

"Miss Hawthorne," he had then said when they were both settled in their armchairs. "Telling you this breaks my heart. But it is my duty to inform you first-hand. You shall soon receive an owl from your other relatives..."

Emma had then shaken her head a bit, her brain trying to put the pieces together. The horror had been approaching and creeping in very slowly with the man's every word, and when it had overwhelmed her completely, it felt as if she was dying. Her world shattered.

"Please take any necessary things and I will open the floo transition in my office which will take you to Saint Mungo's to visit your father..."

Soon Emma learned the whole story from the beginning, with as much detail as her breaking heart allowed her to take in. There had been an accident in the cashmere factory where her muggle mother used to work full-time. The electricity supply had been cut off for not more than approximately two minutes which caused the whole manufacture process to abruptly stop; the lights went off, the machines all halted and the people began to panic. Although they had all been instructed beforehand what to do in such a case, and though there had been multiple simulations of the same accident, it had never happened before for real. It had all been orchestrated so far.

All would be well if one of the employees hadn't fallen down into a large, massive wooden barrel of boiling-hot water that held the pigments and wool straps inside. There was an aisle above the barrels that the workers used to check on the contents of them, and there was a short section that lacked of any sort of a balustrade. That was the part the man had fallen down through. There was absolutely no way to save his life in the darkness, but a certain woman - who boldly threw herself to pull the lever that could help empty the barrel - thought otherwise. That woman was Emma's mother who, in the heat of the moment, had rushed over through the darkness and almost succeeded at releasing the water... but she had stumbled on a wire spread across the concrete floor and was partially pulled inside the ripping and flattening machine that stood by. And at that moment, the electricity supply was recommenced. Emma's mother had not made it to the hospital on time and died of the blood loss.

Emma's father lost his mind the moment he learnt that his dearest wife was dead. The blame that he put on himself, the burden, was too heavy for him to carry and he lost himself completely within days. Even though Emma had then come back home to the little town of Glencoe they lived in Scottish Highlands for some time when they released the man from Saint Mungo's, she had been unable to bring him back to the stable world. Herself, she had then experienced the biggest misery of her entire existence and it had been the most macabre wake up call one could ever receive. And that was when all her friendships were verified and most of her values and traits established.

Greta was there with Emma at her mother's funeral.

Having experienced this sort of pain and sadness she was a bit more able to read between people's lines than some others were. Even though she completely lacked the social skills, Emma was an insightful person and could receive certain auras. That was precisely why Severus Snape – the man whose aura consisted of sadness alone – and his image grew so dear and familiar to the girl. Emma could not justify it otherwise. And the nights he spent outside in the courtyard? It only reaffirmed her idea.

The door to the potions classroom remained open for Emma to step inside. There was no familiar smell of formalin or any other acidic ones that accompanied students of higher years during the regular classes to hit her nostrils and there weren't any ingredients boxes anywhere to be seen. Severus Snape only sat at his teacher's desk, his entwined hands supporting his chin as he was leaning slightly in and against them, his eyes observing Emma carefully and with a bit of reproach. Emma closed the door behind her and reluctantly approached the first row to take a seat opposite of the man. He never said a word, yet the girl had an impression there would be a conversation – or maybe rather a scolding – to come. She was determined to got her point across even though she was still curing from the shock. Now was only a mild surprise lingering about the situation.

"You will not step out of here until I'm given two straight-to-the-point answers. The detention starts anyway from tomorrow throughout the following two weeks, excluding Sundays. Am I making myself clear, miss Hawthorne?"

It was clearly visible that Snape somehow tried to calm down and stay that way after his previous outburst of somewhat desperate emotion, which Emma appreciated a lot, although she would most probably never admit it out loud. The girl only nodded, realising that wasn't some kind of a friendly game between two gossiping girls or any sort of a secret-sharing party. There she was, sitting before her teacher, about to create a network of thoughts and share the most intimate thoughts she held. She also finally realised that the words that were to be spoken would change everything, or at the very least stir in both their heads and hearts. Emma doubted Snape would remain as collected and indifferent as he was trying to come off as at that moment. In fact, she could be sure he paid a very close attention to what was about to be said. And Emma was hungry for any of his words.

"Sir," she began before the man could speak. Her interference was mild and rather kind, and yet demanding. Emma felt slightly surprised at her own tone. "I need you to know that I don't hold any suspicious motives, which you have earlier accused me of. I now suspect a bit what you have previously referred to, sir, and I hope we can have that explained..."

"You hope?" came Snape's calm but irritated question comment which made Emma internally shrink a tiny bit behind the student's desk. "It is precisely why we are here now, so spare me your polite words and don't try to befriend my thoughts."

_Befriend his thoughts?_ Emma was yet again dumbfounded. She withheld the intense look that Snape gave her and finally turned her face a different direction, resting on her own reflection that the tiny glass ingredient chest of drawers created. Her narrow face was lit by the golden glow cast by a candle holder that stood near. She looked into her own eyes and gave herself a moment to apply Snape's words to what she had so far come up with. _Befriend his thoughts..._

She finally pulled her eyes away from the reflection.

"I'm slowly getting tired of this," the man spoke again and Emma entwined her fingers the way he did, and she rested them in her lap. She couldn't bring herself to look back at him; it felt as though, oddly enough, the very presence of him was mangling her enough. "I'll start by asking you – and don't try to tell me you cannot remember – why you have come to the courtyard instead of going straight to the hospital wing, Hawthorne."

Yes, that was something she predicted would fall upon her. The doubts, the very fact that her own thoughts could be verified any moment... and what was the purpose of keeping the answer to herself? Would that change anything if he knew? She would feel horribly ashamed, for sure, but would that affect him as a person – or his life? The avalanche of thoughts went down her mind and she wrinkled her narrow nose a bit, putting together a sensible answer inside her head. Finally, after a few seconds, her dark-haired head moved up and her eyes met Severus'.

"I have hoped to get help from you, sir," the words came with a bit of a struggle as Emma maintained the eye contact with the man. To her not-so-big-now surprise he didn't show any concern – it was as though he expected to hear the same exact words. The thing was, Emma had previously taken some time to rephrase them to sound the most neutral they possibly could. She might have as well said 'I have hoped you would save my life' or 'I have hope to meet you' which would most probably turn out to be her immediate downfall and no other questions would be required then.

"Is this why you constantly intrude my personal space?"

_Does he mean what I think he does?_

"I'm afraid I'm not sure what you're referring t-"

"You are such a nuisance, Hawthorne!" Snape finally burst out. His anger was so intense that Emma felt utterly crushed by the wave of emotion that rushed right at her. "You keep on staring out of your window in that tower, keep on poking at my mind, keep on breaching my intimacy and you think you can make an idiot out of me now?! State what your real business is right now!"

The silence that fell upon them, the way Snape slapped the surface of the desk with his both hands and the way the flame nervously danced on top of every candle in the room pressured Emma to go over the border of her abilities. She instantly got to her feet, feeling the annoying lump inside her throat and the tears pushing to her eyes that she managed to tame. Her breath became shallow as she looked down at the man.

"Do you want to hear the full story, then, sir?" she spoke, feeling her jaws tense. Snape answered immediately, his voice now stern.

"Why else do you think I brought you here for, miss Hawthorne?"

"Very well, sir. I haven't done anything I should be ashamed of. I will not be told otherwise."

"What you _will_ be told is not for you to decide, girl. Now tell me what you should have long before."

Emma took a moment to regain enough peace to sit back down. She allowed her breath to become deeper as she brought herself back to her regular state; from now on her secret would be revealed. That was the moment she imagined and replayed before the eyes of her mind multiple times, but most certainly in a whole different setting and atmosphere.

"I suffer from a minor insomnia," Emma began, making effort to allow her body to loosen up the tension it had to it and to have her voice sound as naturally as possible. "It started approximately a year ago, but only this year it grew a bit more intense. I have sleepless nights up to seven times a month. I... At first I was only reading books in my bed and let the time pass that way. But then... I would look out of the window and began to notice a person hanging around the courtyard the nights I was up. It, well, turned out to be you, professor."

Emma made a pause, allowing the words to sink in; she then looked at the man. Snape was still keeping his hands on the surface of the desk and his look was intense as he kept it on the girl's face.

"Continue."

"And, uh, at first I would merely watch you, sir, since you were the only moving figure around at nights. I wouldn't pay that much attention to this fact at first, but with time... I..." she trailed off, abashed, and moved her eyes to meet her own reflection yet again. Her cheeks turned a slightly pink colour, emphasizing a trail of light freckles that were spread across them and her nose.

"With time you what?"

They both suspected where Emma was going with that sentence. And she again took some time to phrase it neutrally, but gave that up very soon.

"I started to pay a lot more attention to you, sir, and realised there was some kind of a connection between us," _whatever absurd that sounds._ "I... I think that answers your question."

"It doesn't. You haven't even started answering that question, miss Hawthorne."

Her own impotence made Emma wring her hands. Why was that information not enough for Severus Snape? Would she eventually discover why he felt so hurt by the fact she was thinking of him a bit more than one would usually think of a stranger, too? She demanded answers, but at the same time knew her wishes would never be fulfilled, for at that moment she was in the position to obey him, not otherwise.

Snape, though, didn't seem that moved.

"Alright. Like I said, I began to pay closer attention to your steps, the way you sat around the benches and crossed the bridge, I tried to read your emotions from the way you walked or halted, I sometimes thought I could feel your vibe as if it was a physical thing... And I began to repeat that every single night I was up and you were there. Sometimes I would stay up until late, sir. I cannot describe it, but I swear in my head there appeared a certain idea, a theory that I would compare with reality..."

"What theory?"

"That we have a lot in common. More than we should or more than we can imagine, sir."

At that valiant statement that Emma made, the world seemed to have stopped for a brief moment. Inside her mind, she was beating up the part of herself that allowed such words to even come out of her mouth. The wave of embarrassment that washed over her whole body caused Emma to now visibly shrink as she brought her shoulders together and slouched a bit, her eyes escaping Snape's. The man seemed to be equally emotional about the girl's idea for he shook his head and Emma swore she could hear a barely audible growl coming from his direction.

"This is absurd, miss Hawthorne."

It was clear Severus Snape had absolutely no idea what to do with the knowledge he now possessed. Emma was sure he expected to hear mildly absurd words, anyway, but when she looked to him, his face showed an inability to react. Even though he wore a constant mask, even Emma could perfectly see through it at that moment.

"I agree."

She regretted having said those words. But they were necessary. After a long break the man spoke, and it sounded differently.

"It was supposed to be two questions. You are dismissed."

Snape's voice was a lot more silent and, dared Emma think, meeker than the previous one. He was slowly sinking into his thoughts and Emma ceased to move for a few moments before grabbing her schoolbag. She slowly got to her feet and left the seat, glancing at the man for the last time. That was when he captured her eyes again.

"Unless you want to expand the theory."

Those were the words of change. Emma did not have to be told anything twice; overcoming the sheepishness of the situation, she dared to pull the chair from under the desk and set it to the side of the one Snape sat at. Her heart skipped a beat and she watched her palms for a moment, before finally becoming ready to reveal the whole truth to the man. The candle flames began to dance again.


End file.
